My Dot Dot Dot
by mirrorballsymphony
Summary: A series of ficlets based on the titles of Scrubs prompts. Look forward to 'My Bed Banter and Beyond', 'My Unicorn' and 'My Best Friend's Baby's Baby and My Baby's Baby'. SEASON 9: NIGHT WATCH. Now completed.
1. Season 1: The Witches

**So, combining two of my great loves, Scrubs and Discworld. Be not afraid, no Scrubs characters will make an appearance, I'm merely using the titles of the episodes as prompts.**

_**Disclaimer: I own not the Discworld or Scrubs. However, I have an obsession with both, does that count? Didn't think so.**_

**This is how it shall go over the next couple of weeks (I know, because I'm actually prepared and have planned and stuff. It's amazing):**

**Season 1: The Witches**

**Season 2: Death! **

**Season 3: The Watch**

**Season 4: Susan (I'm going as Susan to a Halloween party, just thought I'd mention that)**

**Season 5: Vetinari**

**Season 6: City (AKA: I can't stop writing about the Watch, oh crap I haven't talked about the University and ooh, I remember The Truth. I liked that book)**

**Season 7: Monstrous Regiment**

**Season 8: Moist von Lipwig**

**Season 9: The ****_old_**** Night Watch (AKA: I can't stop writing about the Watch. I have a problem)**

**So, you've got stuff to look forward to. As before with some of Brief Encounters, if you want me to expand on any of them and write fics longer than 100 words each I'm more than happy to.**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

**Season 1: The Witches**

**My First Day**

Esme walked up to the porch of the house.

Nanny Gripes didn't like apprentices. Wouldn't even turn up to the Choosing, which Esme didn't blame her for - a load of floosy girls in it to get guys, something she'd never bothered herself with; there were damn sight more important things in life than men.

Witching, for example.

She raised a fist then lowered it, wondering if she was doing the right thing. There was a fair chance she'd get thrown out the house, but she wouldn't be herself if she didn't give it a go.

The door swung open.

* * *

**My Mentor**

Granny Weatherwax didn't like that Magrat that Goodie Whemper had hired. Seen her around town, always looked like she was away with the fairies, so she'd be perfect for Goodie's herbs and cauldrons witchcraft, something she'd never held much by.

She looked around the fire at the cheerful face of Nanny Ogg.

'Gytha? Are you _sure_ you need three?'

They looked at the thin frame of Magrat, hair frizzed by the steam of the kettle, and each though privately that she was a pathetic excuse for a witch.

The only compliment that Gytha could give her was about her tea.

* * *

**My Best Friend's Mistake**

'Esme?'

Esme turned around and glared at her over the fire. 'What?'

'Are you sure it's right, sending Magrat away like that? I mean, something could happen to her.'

From the look on Granny Weatherwax's face it appeared that there was no bad outcome there.

'Oh, Esme. You know we were all like that.'

'Not me,' Esme said stubbornly.

'Do you remember Endemonidia?' Nanny persisted, and noted the blush which crept up Granny's neck.

'I was _never_ like her.'

'No, maybe not,' Nanny admitted. 'But we've all been different people before, Esme. You can't help it.'

'I _never_ was. Ever.'

* * *

**My Old Lady**

Maiden, mother, crone.

Nanny was _damn_ sure she wasn't the first. Neither Agnes or Magrat could be the last, though Magrat could be the middle one now, she guessed. She was certainly talking more about curtains, but that was natural.

Granny should be the last, if there was any sort of logic to it. There rarely was, though.

Then came the unicorn. One fine, long, too white to be grey hair around its neck and it was tamed like a dog. It would follow her anywhere.

'What, never?'

Granny went blank for a moment, then stony. 'It ain't that unexpected.'

* * *

**My Two Dads**

'Mam,' Shawn asked nervously. 'Who's my father?'

She felt startled for a moment, but then recovered. 'I've told you, it was the first Mr Ogg.'

'Then how come our Shirl says that she's the only one from that marriage?'

Nanny Ogg desperately tried to count. 'Well, y'see, Shawn, she was also from that marriage.'

'But she's way younger than me.'

Nanny Ogg stabbed out for gullibility. 'You've got two dads, Shawn.'

His eyes refocused. 'Really?'

'Yes. The first Mr Ogg and the second Mr Ogg.'

'Really? That's dead cool, Mam.'

'Off you go then, son. And don't tell your sister!'

* * *

**My Bad**

'Granny, will you admit for once that it's your fault?'

Magrat's eyes were bloodshot, wild with rage, her hands clenched up at her sides as if she was trying to prevent herself from lashing out. 'How bloody dare you?'

For once, Granny looked uncertain. 'She did it to herself!'

'But you let her run off into gods knows where! How could you!'

They both turned to look at the baby in the cot, gurgling happily with a small red graze on her right cheek.

'It's only small,' Granny pleaded, but Magrat had already turned away.

'Get out,' she said flatly.

* * *

**My Super Ego**

'Stand up, gel.'

Esme was shocked into attention. She hadn't even realised she was slouching.

'You tired or something?' Nanny Gripes said.

'No, Nanny.'

'Good.'

'Yes, Nanny.'

'Good grief, what's got into you? Yes, Nanny, no, Nanny. Is that any way for a witch to act?'

Esme was tempted to say 'No, Nanny', but decided against it.

'You are a witch, girl. Better'n all of 'em! As soon as you start believin' that, we're half way there.'

'Oh, I know I'm better'n them,' Esme said smugly. 'I _came_ to you.'

Nanny Gripes's face said quite clearly, I took you in.

* * *

**My Fifteen Minutes**

Many people wondered what a witch did in her spare time.

Well, they didn't. Rarely did people bother about what a witch did when she wasn't..._witching_.

Granny's one hobby was knitting.

Yes, it was a habit of women of a certain age, and although she would never admit it Granny's knees hurt when it rained, but witches weren't supposed to do what normal people did. Then you'd get normal people doing witching.

But Granny knitted. She was in the process of making a jumper for Pewsey, which resembled more a cat caught in a hurricane.

Still, it was something normal.

* * *

**My Day Off**

Nanny could still remember the laughter, the sound of the river, the inventor's...inventions.

'Ooh, Leonard.'

He was a bit bookish, she'd admit that, but he was talented. And very patient. And _very_ open minded. They had been young, she had been older in mind rather than physicality, and they had somehow come together like those magnetic wossnames where they attract though they're opposite.

That was one of the things that Gytha learnt.

She sighed and snapped out of the memories. He was old and insane now, locked up in some castle.

She liked to think it was because of her.

* * *

**My Nickname**

When she had been younger she had been 'Fat Agnes', for obvious reasons. She would then knock the sayer down and steal their sweets.

Then she had become 'Agnes with the lovely hair'. That hadn't been any better.

Then, for a brief while, she had been 'Perdita'. And she liked Perdita. It was a damn sight more exciting than 'Agnes' and Perdita could use exciting words like damn without blushing.

Apparently, though, Perdita didn't like her.

And then she'd been 'Agnes who went to the city' or 'Agnes the singer'.

She wondered if she would ever be 'Agnes the witch'.

* * *

**My Own Personal Jesus**

'But the gods plainly do exist!'

'Yeah,' Granny said coldly, pausing in her digging. 'But it don't mean I have to believe in 'em.'

'But you believe what you see!'

'Don't be silly, boy. I know what I see. Nothin' in there about believin', and I don't believe in nothin'.'

'So you do believe in something,' Oats said, pleased.

'Never said that.'

'You said that you don't believe in nothing.'

Granny looked at him quizzically. 'Yeah. And?'

Mightily Oats sighed.

'Get down from the fairies, man, and start thinking about something real. And I need to finish off the privy.'

* * *

**My Blind Date**

Glory be, it was one of those creepy little farm boys from down at the village. Face as hairless as a peach, voice cracking every so often. He must be twenty, though; she was fairly sure Gytha wasn't that cruel.

Was she?

The boy - no, man - was standing about a foot away from her and looking awkwardly at the floor.

'Will I be seein' you again?' he asked nervously.

'Maybe,' she said noncommittally. Then she strode off.

Later on, back at the house, she scribbled a note.

**'Dear Simon,**

**No.'**

Then she started flicking through Mustrum's old letters.

* * *

**My Balancing Act**

Nanny felt as though she was walking along some sort of tightrope, forever looking down and wobbling. And what's more, the tightrope had fractures in it.

'Um...'

But this wasn't exactly a conversation she felt was right to have with Pewsey. Yes, he was fourteen now and growing like a very fast thing, but it wasn't her place. She had been giving him sweets only ten minutes ago.

Come on, Gytha.

'Um, Pewsey?'

His plump face turned. 'Yeah?'

She sighed. Damn those daughters in laws, never committing themselves to anything.

_Come on, Gytha..._

'Um...when a man really likes a girl...'

* * *

**My Drug Buddy**

'You don't need painkillers,' Granny said gruffly, trying to ignore the wailing man behind her.

'He's in pain!'

'Aye, and he won't let me touch him.'

'Give 'im something!'

Granny walked quickly over to the man and elbowed him in the back. Something made a popping noise.

'Better?' Granny handed him a glass of water.

'Much,' he said, gulping it down.

'What's in the glass?' the woman standing next to him suspiciously asked.

Granny looked at her blankly as the man keeled over onto the floor. 'Painkillers. You wanted 'em. You can't pop someone's rib back in when they're unconscious.'

* * *

**My Bed Banter And Beyond**

Rabbits. Now they were a whole lot of fun to Borrow. She would wake up out of it with this massive urge to eat grass, scratch her ears and have sex with anything, something Granny had rarely felt. There was also the whole size and shape difference to deal with - springing had its advantages and sometimes she'd find herself trying to lift her leg up to her ear.

In the sick, twisted, immature depths of her mind, she would sometimes consider how useful the whole sex thing would have been if she had stayed with Mustrum.

Probably not very.

* * *

**My Heavy Meddle**

She had gone and done it again. The bl- no, she couldn't swear at her. That would be…no, not treason. Maybe blasphemy.

Magrat couldn't remember the last time she had actually done something on her own without the crinkled eyes and the sapphire blue eyes following her every move. Nanny hadn't even been there when the baby was born, and Granny… Granny had been nowhere to be seen.

Except for when the baby opened her eyes.

They were sapphire blue and sliced through the air around them like an icy dagger, and there was only one name in Magrat's head.

* * *

**My Student**

'Eskarina!'

Esk stopped dead swinging in the tree. 'Yes, Granny?'

'Don't you try and use that voice on me,' she grumbled. 'Where've you been?'

'Outside.'

'Useless! What's the treatment for hardpad?'

Esk swung herself down from the tree and stood up. 'I don't care, Granny. There's all those medicines and symptoms and 'erbs and I never get to do any real magic!'

Decades later, Eskarina sat down with her apprentice too.

'Oh, it's real magic alright. Look around you. People are still alive because of you. Isn't that magic?'

She wondered if she had ever given Granny that dirty look.

* * *

**My Tuscaloosa Heart**

_My Ankh-Morpork Heart_

'Come on, Esme.'

'I ain't goin'. You go on by yerselves.'

'Aw, Esme. You know you want to.'

She hated it when people used that. She knew damn well what she wanted, and it was not going to Ankh-Morpork.

'It's cos her fella's there,' one of them whispered. 'Don't want to see him.'

'That's nothin' to do with it. I got work to do.'

'Ooh, that what you told him?'

She looked at the girl coldly. 'Maybe, maybe not. Why'd'you care?'

Then she stormed into the house and slammed the door, which probably didn't help her cause in the slightest.

* * *

**My Old Man**

Magrat had never known her father. Her mother had told her that he was a travelling dancers and she was inclined to believe her; Magrat had inherited none of her ditziness and airiness from her mother, who was a practical hard worker whose only vice seemed to be spelling.

After her mother had gone and she was clearing out her house she had found a couple of paintings that someone called 'Jim' had done, and although they were good it wasn't the sort of upbringing you wanted, where art was the focus. Gods knew how she might have turned out.

* * *

**My Way or the Highway**

Esme wasn't scared. She was very not scared, even though her sister was crouched above her, holding out her fists.

She concentrated on the way that the floor pressed against her backbone. Backbone...

'You do it my way,' Lily hissed, leaning over her. 'Always do it my way.'

Esme considered the options.

'No,' she said finally. 'No, don't think I will. I'll stick with my way.'

Lily's eyes narrowed.

Esme tried her best to defend herself against her older sister's slaps, but still managed to receive a couple of bruises.

Lily's nose would never be the same after that, though.

* * *

**My Sacrificial Clam**

Fish. She'd never liked the stuff; it was too slimy, stuck in your throat and smelt, and after experiencing the workings of gills when Borrowing them she could never look down at a plate of haddock again.

Also, they had eyes. And the eyes stared at you when you were cutting into them and carried on staring as they were, it seemed, boiled alive. She never had a problem with anything else with eyes, just fish, it seemed...

Perhaps it was just one of those things. Or perhaps fish just looked far too intelligent to be cut open like that.

* * *

**My Occurrence**

It was a once in a lifetime occurrence.

A meteor shower.

Or, as Esme Weatherwax didn't know much about astronomy, it was a shower of sparkles in the sky. She must have been about eight at the time. That was magic to her, that shower twinkling through the darkness, and later on she discovered just how annoying a metaphor it was.

Then she grew up and forgot about the meteors until one night, high above the Disc, she saw what looked like a rain of silver in the sky.

She wondered how exactly she had got to here from there.

* * *

**My Hero**

'When I'm older I want to be just like Granny Weatherwax,' she heard the child proclaim.

Children seemed to like Granny. Possibly it was because they'd never seen her in a bad mood or never seen her elbow someone in the back so hard they forgot about their aches.

'When I'm older I want to be just like her.'

The child's mother turned and looked nervously at Granny, who gave her a tight smile.

'Here's some advice, child,' she said, bending down. 'Make sure you know something about everyone.'

She stood up, gave the mother a grin, and set off.

* * *

**My Last Day**

Sometimes Magrat would go down to the bridge and look over it into the rushing grey depths, wondering where her sack had gone.

It had never really contained much of any substance. A few cheap trinkets. Never any real magic, at least not that of Granny's standards.

But she had believed in it. Did that then make it real?

She sighed and leaned further over, trying to see if any necklaces had gotten caught in the rocks. They hadn't.

Then she looked up and caught sight of three figures on the hilltop.

She felt very far away from it all.

* * *

**So, how did you like it? Any comments, just press the little review button just down there. Yep, that one there. Why thank you very much.**


	2. Season 2: Death

**koryandrs - why thank you :) it came to me in a flash of inspiration whilst watching daytime TV. **

**So, Season 2: Death. **

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

**My Overkill **

He was aware that he'd been overdoing it. He'd been attending every death, making sure that all the records were correct, trying to improve the house before Susan's next visit. He still couldn't work out how towels worked.

He'd gone to take the souls of whales pierced by harpoons, hearing with dismay the cheers of the whalers. He'd listened to the final squeak of mice as they reached for their last bit of cheese. He'd heard the sigh of beggars as they succumbed to the inevitable.

And, try as he might, he could never erase those sounds from his mind.

* * *

**My Nightingale **

'Look, master.'

Death glanced at the other side of the lake and caught a flash of blue. WHAT IS IT, ALBERT?

The man squinted into the distance. 'Looks like a nightingale. Sort of bird, master, thought to be mythological. Very romantic, that sort of thing.'

HOW DID IT GET HERE?

Albert shrugged. 'Beats me.'

In a tree on the other side of the lake, perched on branches which had never borne leaf, Quoth the Raven glanced coyly to the side.

'Good, innit.' He coughed and handed the bird a round object out of a jar. 'Pickled walnut? They're pretty good.'

* * *

**My Case Study **

_DISCLAIMER: These are not necessarily my views on animal testing, which are more liberal than Death's, but this is (I hope) how Death would react._

'It was just an experiment!' the man squeaked. 'Honestly! I never meant any harm.'

Death stood in the middle of a hundred cat spirits, all wearing that smug expression which shows that they know you're temporary, and they like it.

DIDN'T MEAN ANY HARM?

'I just wanted to heal!'

The Death of Rats squeaked and a couple of hundred white mice, only slightly faded in the afterlife, came scampering out of infinity.

AREN'T THERE OTHER WAYS? HUMANS, FOR EXAMPLE.

The man looked shocked. 'But that would be dreadful.'

He then caught sight of Death's expression.

LET HIM GO, he commanded.

* * *

**My Big Mouth **

He had teeth. He had the normal number of teeth at the top and the bottom, and considered it a bonus that he never had to floss. Paying lots of money for bits of string had never made sense to him.

And he never had to bother about lipstick or wanting his lips to look fuller (Albert had told him that that was females only, though).

And he never had to worry about whether he was getting wrinkles or laughter lines.

The one thing Death did worry about, though, was that he couldn't smile.

All he could do was grin.

* * *

**My New Coat **

Death glanced into the box wrapped in glossy, gaudy paper with a small label on it. It read, _I owe you one_.

I OWE ONE WHAT? Death thought.

Inside, wrapped in layers and layers of tissue, was something red. He pulled it out of the box and shook it out, feeling the cheap fabric and fake fur.

It was a robe in the same style as Death's, but a little more…festive.

REALLY? he asked the rat next to him, which squeaked. I MEAN, I'VE GOT A GOOD BLACK ONE UPSTAIRS.

The sarcastic squeak told him that it wasn't especially joyful.

* * *

**My Big Brother **

Mort looked down at the smaller than usual bundle in Ysabell's arms. There was no cry.

He didn't know what to say.

'Ysabell...' he started, then paused. 'I'm sorry.' Gods, that sounded stupid. Cliched.

'For what?' she said blankly.

He sat down on the bed next to her. 'Do you know why?'

She laughed grimly and put the bundle down at the end of the bed. 'Oh, who knows with these things. Probably the Death thing. But at least it's consoling to know someone's looking after him.'

She looked up at him. 'We'll try again, you know. We'll beat him.'

* * *

**My First Step **

'Susan!'

The child heard the yell but kept on walking unsteadily. She'd already crossed this much carpet, there was much more carpet to come in this room the size of eternity, and she was damned if she was going to stop.

'Susan!'

Three figures were standing in a doorway much closer to her than she had expected and she blinked.

'Come on, Susan.'

She looked past them and tried to see through the wall. Well, if she could see through it, she could walk through it...

She reappeared in the next room with her parents standing over her, looking horrified.

* * *

**My Fruit Cups **

FIVE A DAY? Death asked, turning an apple around in skeletal fingers. WHAT IS THIS CONCEPT?

'Ah, it'll help you live longer.' The shopkeeper grinned and pointed to a pile of soggy strawberries. 'Finest specimens, bought in this morning, fresh from the fields.'

QUITE, Death said. He picked up an oddly coloured passion fruit and the man smiled.

'Good eye, very good eye, for the connoisseur of fruit and veg. All the way from Klatch, cost me extra, you know.'

Death tried to raise an eyebrow. THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME.

'It'll help you live longer!'

He turned round. QUITE.

* * *

**My Lucky Day **

AH, MR MICHAELS. IT'S YOUR LUCKY DAY.

The ghost of Simon Michaels glanced up at him. 'Oh,' he said flatly. 'I'm dead.'

VERY WELL OBSERVED.

'So how's it my lucky day?' the spirit asked, leaning against a wall and watching the turgid waters of the Ankh flow under his feet.

YOU WERE BEING CHASED BY THIEVES.

'Yes. Forgot to pay.'

AND THEY HAD KNIVES.

'This is luck?'

YOU FELL INTO THE ANKH. Well, luck was relative. TAKING THREE OF THEM WITH YOU.

'Oh.'

THINK OF IT AS A SERVICE TO THE COMMUNITY. THEY'LL BE ALONG SHORTLY, SO I'D GET GOING.

* * *

**My Monster **

_Based on Frankenstein, for those who haven't read it._

The monster lurched through the streets of Inglostadt. Death looked down.

HMM…

'Think he'll last?'

I THINK IT'S AN 'IT'.

Death felt sorry for the monster, actually. The thing was delirious, stumbling around, uttering unintelligible noises into the darkness of the night instead of the words which it wished it could say. The clock chimed two and the monster jumped.

I DOUBT IT'LL LAST. IT HAS NO GUIDANCE.

Albert looked at him queerly. 'You're getting too emotional again, aren't you. You're gonna follow him around and…'

OF COURSE NOT, ALBERT.

But he might just keep an eye on the creature.

* * *

**My Sex Buddy **

I'M SORRY, YOU WANT ME TO BE WHAT?

The woman, dressed from head to toe in furs and velvets and gaudy ornaments, flicked her ethereal hair at him.

'Well, I've always been very interested in the mechanics of it.' She grinned.

AND WHAT WAS YOUR PROFESSION? Death flicked through a clipboard. WELL, IT IS THE OLDEST PROFESSION.

'Want some of this?' the woman growled, bending towards him. Death stepped back hastily.

AND YOU DIED FROM...OH. WELL, IT'S VERY INFECTIOUS.

'Not me. 'm clean, me.'

YOU WOULD BE SURPRISED.

'So, are we going to get on with it?'

Death shuddered. GOODBYE.

* * *

**My New Old Friend **

'So, Death,' Ronnie said, propping up his feet on Death's table. 'How've you been?'

He caught Death glancing at his feet and hastily put them down. 'Sorry. Too used to the whole 'amiable milkman' thing.'

I UNDERSTAND.

'So, how have you been?'

Death thought about it.

He thought about his first apprentice and all the mayhem that that had caused. But before that was Ysabell - did Ronnie know about that? - and then Susan.

Being Hogfather, travelling around the Disc in just one night. Bringing the harvest in. Playing a melody on a glittering guitar.

BUSY, he said finally.

* * *

**My Philosophy **

All in all, there were worse things to base your life around than the music.

Music thrummed through the streets of Ankh-Morpork. It pounded through houses where the only tune ever whistled was that old ditty your grandfather used to sing and left people looking around for sticks and some goatskin. Children sang swear words and flicked their hair around, even people in Ankh were humming it on their way to work*.

*Or the upper class equivalent of it.

And Death, invisible to all, strummed out a chord on a glittering, glorious instrument, and felt himself pulled in with it.

* * *

**My Brother, My Keeper **

'Is it a boy?' the man asked coldly, looking over the exhausted mother to the midwife.

'No.' Her voice was steady, used to this.

He turned away. 'Well, there must be some place for it. Someone must want it.'

'It's your child, sir.'

'I wanted a boy.' The syllables were clipped. 'I needed a boy, and she didn't deliver.'

'She couldn't have helped it.'

'Did I ask you for your _opinion_?'

And Death stood over it all, wishing, wishing that he could take some life away from him and put it into that tiny baby with the even smaller hourglass.

* * *

**His Story **

God, it was dull here. Black, black, black, ooh, was that a really dark blue, no, it's black. He was imagining it.

Albert missed colour. He'd been the one to introduce the custom of hugely decorative, rainbow, glittery, sparkled robes, and on his brief visits was pleased that it was going strong. That Mustrum seemed to be taking it into his stride.

But he really, really missed the Disc.

He would look down at it sometimes - well, at the little model Death had in his study - and wish so much that he could be back that it hurt.

* * *

**My Karma **

He must have been wicked in a previous life...

Which was impossible. He'd existed since the dawn of time, since the first microbe realised that there might be something beyond...

Anyway.

But he must have been very wicked. Killed a goat or spat on a goblet or something, because he couldn't think of any other reason why he was now trapped in a place beyond the physical world with Lord Vetinari.

YOU WISH TO PLAY 'MAKE WORDS WITH LETTERS THAT HAVE ALL BEEN MIXED UP'? I ADMIT I AM A NOVICE.

Vetinari raised his eyebrows and sat down. 'Shall we?'

* * *

**My Own Private Practice Guy **

YOU WANT...WHAT?

The boy, all eager eyes and dressed up smart, looked up at him and smiled. 'I wish to become your apprentice.'

I DON'T HAVE APPRENTICES. Well, that was strictly true.

'I thoroughly believe that we could make this a franchise.' He looked around him. 'Ushering souls into the netherworld, it sounds like a business to me.

TURN THE FINAL REALITY INTO A FRANCHISE?

'You know, you've been missing out all these years...'

There was a brief flash as Death removed the boy from this reality and back to the other.

ALBERT?

'Yes?'

LOCK THE DOORS, WILL YOU? FIRMLY.

* * *

**My T.C.W. **

_In this episode JD hooks up with a woman who's husband is in a coma, giving her the name Tasty Coma Wife. _

HELLO, SIR.

The spirit of the man floated up and smiled at him. 'Phew. That took a while.'

COMAS DO THAT TO YOU.

The man looked down at himself. 'Hmm. That's a lot of tubes. And a lot of beeping. Oh, and there's my wife.'

YES...

'And she's with...who's that?'

YOUR DOCTOR.

'Oh.' He paused. 'Decent looking lad, isn't he?'

Death had never been asked that question before.

'Ah, well. Never mind.'

YOU'RE NOT UPSET?

'Of course I'm upset, you fleabrained skeleton.'

UM, SORRY.

'Never mind. Let's get on with it.'

He stalked into the netherworld, Death scurrying behind him.

* * *

**My Kingdom **

'You want the place cleaned?' Albert asked incredulously.

YES?

'Well…dirt means illness which means death which means you…' Albert trailed off. 'It's just unusual, that's all.'

CAN I REMIND YOU WHOSE HOUSE THIS IS?

Albert subsided, still muttering about how it just weren't proper for the house to be _clean_.

But Death was really just looking for something.

He'd walked into the library the other day and discovered a hole where a book should be. It chilled his hypothetical blood and he knew exactly which book it was.

Far away, Susan turned the last page of her mother's book over.

* * *

**My Interpretation **

Death stared at the chart.

NUMBER ONE IS…HAPPY?

'So close.'

RELIEVED?

'Getting warmer.'

GRATEFUL?

Albert clicked his fingers. 'Spot on. Now, what do you see in this blob?'

Death knew he really shouldn't be experimenting with psychology. But it was so tempting, so that he could say that there was actually something wrong with him, something diagnosable.

Oh, he knew he was Death. But that was only part of the problem.

He looked down at the blob and tried to squint. A SKULL? he said hopefully.

Albert made a note of it. 'We're going to have to do some more.'

* * *

**My Drama Queen **

Oh god, Death thought.

The spirit bounced up and grinned at him. 'I've never felt so alive!'

AHEM.

The man turned round and squinted at him. 'But...but you're Death!'

CORRECT.

'That's not your line,' the man hissed. 'You're supposed to say 'Cower, brief mortal'.'

I HAVE LINES?

The man gestured impatiently at the audience in front of him.

MISTER JENKINS, I DO NOT THINK YOU FULLY UNDERSTAND. YOU'RE DEAD.

'That's what you say...oh.' He looked down.

I'M VERY SORRY.

'It was going to be my masterpiece. Still,' the man looked up, a little happier, 'I'll make a name for myself.'

* * *

**My Dream Job **

Death looked jealously down at the man selling the sausages in the empty night streets of the city.

'Sausage inna bun!' came the echoing cry, bouncing off stone walls and disappearing into the black sky. 'Genuine meat! Guaranteed nooo rat!'

It was a sin to be jealous, Death knew that. It was another piece of his personality, but it wasn't like he could help but wish that people sometimes looked forward to seeing him, even if it was with a slightly queasy expression, like the man below.

It would be nice to _give_ people something. All he did was take.


	3. Season 3: The Watch

**Season 3 - The Watch**

**My American Girl **

This girl had an odd accent. It was no accent at all.

'Lance-constable…Angua, is it?'

'Yes.'

A hint of Uberwald there, or maybe he was just looking for it.

'So, why do you want to be in the Watch?'

'It's a job.'

Maybe Quirmian, possibly? Vimes had no idea why he wanted to know.

'You mean it's not for the glory or the medals or the uniform?'

'It's a job, sir.'

And then he realised why he wanted to see something distinguishing.

It was because he was finding it too hard to work out what this girl was guilty of.

* * *

**My Journey **

Carrot walked along the path between Copperhead and Ankh-Morpork, going the opposite way to fourteen years ago, and felt a lot taller.

He wasn't, of course. Feeling 'taller' was a metaphor, so he would have probably just said 'older' and left it at that.

He passed the place where someone had jumped out at him and jumped away, passed the inn where he stopped for dinner one night, stepped back into the mine that he had left fourteen years ago to the day.

His parents looked up at him in amazement, with his armour and sword, and started to cry.

* * *

**My White Whale **

'What is it?' Vimes roared over the splashing waves and the creaking sails.

'A whale,' Jenkins shouted back. 'That's only it's fin. They're bloody huge.'

Vimes stared into the swirling water, looking at a shape which seemed more fluid than the gaseous spray of water around him, and laughed as a giant fountain of water gushed up from the depths.

'You all right, sir?' Angua asked from behind him.

He gestured to the whale. 'Look at that, Angua. Isn't it amazing? And we have never, ever damaged it! It's incredible!'

Angua looked concerned. 'I think you've been overdoing it, sir.'

* * *

**My Lucky Night **

Oh, he loved the night. The rain dripping down his helmet and running down his cloak, the texture of the night pressing against his skin, the muffled clanging of the bells as they clanked and clonged one o'clock.

And then the sound of his Watch moving in and out of the Yard, shifts changing, the hiss of the kettle, the scratching pens, crinkling paper.

And now the heavy breathing of Sybil beside him, the midnight cry of the baby, something warm in his bed which was so different to the cold presence he was used to.

He loved it all.

* * *

**My Brother, Where Art Thou? **

'Errol!' Nobby yelled. 'Errol! Come back!'

They were all chasing after the small, dwarf like figure ahead of them, and Nobby was leading.

He darted down an alleyway after the man* and jumped on top of him. He could hear the jangling and crashing as whatever he had nicked crashed onto the floor.

'Got 'im!' he yelled as Vimes turned the corner. 'And he did it!'

Then his voice faded. 'He did it.'

Vimes quickly pulled the other Nobbs up by the collar and grabbed his wrists. 'You're nicked, chum.'

'Errol?' Nobby asked.

The other man just stared ahead.

* * *

*Well...

* * *

**My Advice to You **

Sometimes Vimes just felt like an agony aunt. And not in the Ankh-Morpork sense.

'Lose the plaits, Cheery,' he said as the dwarf came down the stairs. She blushed.

'Put down the doughnut, Fred, before the missus comes in.' Fred moved far too quickly.

'Sally, your singing is not a good accompaniment to that harp.'

'No, you can't wear that in here, Nobby. It's illegal. Not just for men.'

And finally:

'You two, get a room.'

Carrot turned and frowned. 'We are in a room. But you came in.'

Angua blushed.

And there wasn't much you could say to that.

* * *

**My Fifteen Seconds **

Fifteen seconds of sleep was all he had had last night. He could feel the tiredness pushing his head down onto his desk, so he let it. At least it was comfortable.

When he went home Sybil was standing over the bacon pan and smiling.

'Rough night, dear?'

He nodded and slumped down. 'Gods, I must have got a minute of sleep at most.'

She frowned. 'That's odd. Because you were snoring all night.'

'No, that was you.'

'No, I'm sure that was you.'

And then there was no point arguing anymore. There was bacon done.

Marriage at its finest.

* * *

**My Friend the Doctor **

'Doctor Lawn?'

Mossy turned round, holding a coffee cup, and grimaced at Vimes. 'What do you want? Because I'm a bit busy.'

'This is an emergency.'

'Have you let Igor near it? Because if so, I'm not coming.'

'Why would I let Igor near this? Can you just come quickly, please.'

Mossy groaned and drained the mug. 'Fine.'

They arrived at the house.

'What do you need me for?'

Vimes pointed at his wife, who might, to the trained eye, look a little bit plumper. 'What can you do with that?'

Mossy raised his eyebrows. 'You are joking. Another one?'

* * *

**My Dirty Secret **

Think about lockers.

There were only six lockers in the Watch House filled now. Cuddy's name had been wiped off.

They were all filled with the detritus of lockers everywhere. A creased change of clothes, a water bottle, a rucksack, in a couple a packed lunch, in Detritus's case a stack of stones.

And, floating around, the Amorous Adventures of Molly Clapper.

Vimes knew it. Fred knew it. Nobby knew it. Angua had flicked through it, chuckled, and put it in Detritus's locker.

Now it was in Corporal Carrot's locker, and he had decided that the drawings might be exaggerated.

* * *

**My Rule of Thumb **

'You should write a book, sir,' Cheery said absently, peering at the body. 'Something like Mister Vimes's Rules of Thumb.'

'Like what?' Vimes lifted his mug off as there was a spurt of blood.

'You know. Like 'Why did Nobby ever become a copper' and 'everyone's guilty' or 'don't touch that, you don't know where it's been' and-'

'Yes, I get what you mean, Cheery.'

'And maybe 'be damned to Vetinari' or 'I swear that man is as thick as a brick' or '_I_ paid _my_ taxes'.'

'Yes, thank you, Cheery.'

Though he had to admit it sounded quite entertaining.

* * *

**My Clean Break **

'It's just a break,' Sybil said quietly. 'We just have to set it, then you can…go.'

Sam looked up at the woman who'd taken him in, patched him up, not asked any questions about how he managed to break his arm on a fallen piece of guttering or why he still stank of alcohol, just let him be helped.

It was admirable.

'I don't want to go,' he said, and she looked up and smiled faintly.

'Then stay,' was the response. 'Why not? I mean…we…'

There was that unspoken assumption that there was now something more between them now.

'Yes.'

* * *

**My Catalyst **

There was something in the air, spiralling between the lockers and the uniform and through the canteen, the best place for spreading rumours in the whole of Ankh-Morpork. Coppers just couldn't stop themselves.

'Those two…'

'Yeah.'

'Ring…I saw it yesterday.'

'No, I only saw it this morning. Coming in from…'

'Been long enough. I mean, they've obviously…'

There was a nod, which passed around the crowd clustered around the kettle. Tea was the lubricant of rumours, after all.

The door creaked open and every head turned to look at it. Angua and Carrot were framed in it.

'What?' they asked.

* * *

**My Porcelain God **

Showers. Ye gods, they were the best invention in the world, and Angua had an instant monopoly on them now that she was officially the only female beat officer and of a higher ranking than all the rest of them. Sally had gone, and with her departure had come the showers.

She sighed and tried to relax under the warm water. Everything ached, even her hair, it seemed; running full pelt into a pane of glass which had mysteriously appeared did that to you.

She reached over to the soap and heard a knock on the door.

'Bugger off, Nobby.'

* * *

**My Screw Up **

'I mean, it's not like you're working to crush us down or oppress us or censor us,' Vimes babbled. The smell of alcohol floated around the room and Vetinari leaned away from the slouching man.

'And you always do the best for the community, allowin' all these assassins and thieves floatin' around..'

Vetinari gave Wonse a tiny nod and he disappeared.

'And then you've got the goddamn secretaries…'

A couple of men, larger than Vimes, walked in and picked up the man, who flopped. They walked out.

Vetinari leaned back and sighed. He did hate to see him like that.

* * *

**My Tormented Mentor **

Angua walked into the office and saw Vimes staring at the desk with a blank expression. Initially she thought she smelt alcohol, but it turned out just to be despair.

'Sir?'

His face was tormented. 'It's a _baby_, Angua.'

She sighed. She knew her boss too well. He would get into phases where the weight of reality would break through the cynicism, crushing it to smithereens, and then he ended up like this.

'It'll be fine, sir.'

He looked up. 'A _baby_.'

She pulled up a chair and sat down, just waiting until he had something he needed to say.

* * *

**My Butterfly **

Sam Vimes Senior closed the book and looked at his son, who seemed confused.

'Daddy, what's a butterfly?'

Hard to explain to a city kid like Sam what a butterfly was. He wasn't even sure he knew himself.

'Um...it's an insect. It's got four wings, which all have the same pattern, and it's got pretty colours.'

Sybil turned to look at them. 'My grandfather used to collect butterflies. I think we've still got some.'

She disappeared upstairs and rattled around for a minute, then returned with a huge canvas on which were pinned...

'Eurgh,' Vimes said.

'Cool!' enthused his son.

* * *

**My Moment of Un-Truth **

It was a small lie. A tiny, tiny lie which wasn't a real lie at all, more a wishy washy truth which no one would ever want to correct.

She looked down at her hand holding the pen, and realised that she had dripped ink over one corner of the application form.

The pen hovered over the Name box and, making sure that her writing was legible, she filled it in.

_von Uberwald, Angua_

Then she signed it, making that she put A as her initial, not the D she was used to.

It was an important lie. Completely necessary.

* * *

**His Story II **

Reg, right now, had no bloody idea why he joined the Watch.

Maybe it was because a concentration of undead around Mrs Cake's had detracted them away from the Fresh Start Club. Maybe it was because the Watch had started cracking down on the graffiti. Maybe it was because, after Captain Carrot had asked him to join the Watch without any sarcasm at all, it seemed, it sounded like an idea to help The People.

Hadn't really measured up like that.

'All right,' he shouted through the crowd, gesturing to his arm on the floor. 'Does anyone have any thread?'

* * *

**My Choosiest Choice of All **

Oh gods, he was no good at this. His chubby, pink, sweating hands were crusted with doughnut sugar and shaking.

He was no _good_ at making decisions. Mister Vimes knew this, so he'd been placed in the job with the least responsibility on the Disc. He just sat around with his mates all day, eating doughnuts and figgins…

…and providing a valuable service to the community.

Oh, who was he kidding. He couldn't do it, but their eyes were on him, and his hand was moving…

The card was placed on the top of the pile.

'Four,' Colon quavered.

'Bullshit.'

* * *

**My Fault **

Damn it…Vimes thought, walking in a daze towards the Great Hall. Damn, damn, damn, damn.

He had one job, look after three recruits and make them into half-hearted cynical bastards, like a proper copper, and he'd failed. Two dead…one alive, yes, but who thought like that?

Two dead.

Cuddy, his still shape, that black piece of cloth which meant that he couldn't interfere. Then Angua…oh, he'd been stupid to be shocked at Carrot. Of course he'd say that. Of course he'd be fine with it. But that wasn't something you got over quickly…

And all of it was his fault.

* * *

**My Self-Examination **

There was a bottle.

When he looked through it everything was blurred into proportion, and that was good. Otherwise he would have to remember people's faces seen through the definition of sobriety, pain and tears, and he would just pick up yet another bottle.

Cheap whiskey turned the world golden.

Yet Sybil didn't suit gold. She didn't suit 'distorted'.

It was a stupid thing, a bloody stupid reason, but it had kicked itself into Vimes' brain and wouldn't go away.

Because even if he was drunk he couldn't un-see her disappointment, and that hurt more than anything else ever would.

* * *

**My Best Friend's Wedding **

Carrot and Angua twirled around the floor and Vimes felt incredibly old.

They had been together for _years_, yet it was depressing to think that he could clearly remember the day that Angua joined the Watch. Carrot was another matter, but Vimes had been well-preserved at that point.

And now they were _married_.

Vimes glanced over to his wife and she smiled gently at him and tapped her stomach.

'You're joking,' he whispered.

'Female matters, Sam,' she said, winking.

Vimes looked back at the couple, gently spinning around, and felt like he was going to be a granddad or something.


	4. Season 4: Susan Sto Helit

**wwwhiskers: You should watch Scrubs! It's been voted the most medically accurate show on TV, which I find hard to believe...but thank you for the review. Carry on enjoying.**

**helenealbre: Aw, thank you :) I've never had anything described as stunning before *clears throat* I'd like to thank all the people who supported me, my mother...**

**koryandrs: Yeah, I didn't know how 'My Case Study' would go down. It's a little controversial.**

**TreacleMineRoad: Granny being...dirty? I know, it's wrong, but it was fun to write. Vetinari's up soon, and I agree, there are a lot of similarities between them. And cats do look like that!**

**GeoffG: Why thank you :) glad you're enjoying it.**

**So, lovely readers, here's Susan. I didn't want to write these, as I'm not as fond of Susan as I am of the others, but these were some of the easiest to write. More Susan stuff is possibly on the horizon...**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

**Season 4 - Susan**

**My Old Friend's New Friend **

'Well, it's been a while,' Ronnie Soak said, blowing a smoke ring. 'Last time I saw you you were what, five?'

'Something like that.'

'So, how have you been?'

Susan thought for a moment, clamping a hand down on her hair to stop it exploding. 'Busy. You know, it's not easy having a grandfather who's Death.'

'Gives you a few little perks, though? I've seen you walk through walls and stuff.'

'Oh. That.'

'Not everyone can turn invisible, y'know.'

'It's not like I have the choice, though.'

Ronnie/Kaos, milkman and Fifth Horseman, looked at her with his eyebrows raised. 'Really?'

* * *

**My Office **

Madam Frout peered into the office and was pleased to see that there was no one in there. She needed a few confidential documents of Susan's, but couldn't quite pluck up the courage to ask.

This office was vastly different from hers. For one thing, the table top was bare, with labelled cabinets and drawers, on top of which was a painting of a severe looking couple. The man was holding a scythe.

She reached for the drawer…

'You wanted me, Madam?'

She span around and saw Susan sitting in her chair, looking helpful, and ran out of the room.

* * *

**My New Game**

'Jason.'

The boy turned round and was faced with a smiling Miss Susan. It was not a pleasant smile. It was the smile of a coyote, or a particularly malicious dog who's got you backed up into a corner.

'Jason, we're going to play a game. It's called how long can Jason not talk for.'

She turned to the skeleton beside her and passed him Jason's tome, which was already liberally spattered with crusted blood. 'Here you go, Grandfather. Make sure you read it all. Don't leave the gruesome bits out.'

The skeleton's grin was remarkably similar to Miss Susan's.

* * *

**My First Kill **

She knew it was wrong, but she'd always been fascinated with the shapes of the souls. The way they seemed to reflect everything around them, like a faded mirror; their translucency as they floated above the body; the way they looked so real, like an iconograph that had been left out in the sun too long.

But it never got easier seeing them.

She stood up, slipping the scythe back into its holder, and climbed onto Binky. In front of her the spirits of three kittens drowned in the Ankh faded into paradise*.

* * *

*Full of milk and breakable scratching posts.

* * *

**Her Story **

Twyla had odd memories from her childhood.

There was Gawain's marble, which glowed in the dark and showed weird pictures if you stared at it for too long. There was the poker, now resting in her own children's room and still with the bend in it. There was a conglomeration of oddly shaped creatures pulled out, whimpering, from under the bed.

And throughout, there was Susan. She cried when Susan left.

And she could also remember a skeleton who could talk and glowed with a strange blue light, and she had seen him again since.

She was seeing him now.

* * *

**My Cake **

She was aware that there were some odd people in Ankh-Morpork, but she'd never expected to be having a 'precognition' argument with Evadne Cake, who was currently dressed to the nines in long, flowing, completely impractical robes and bangles and bracelets galore.

'I can see…many youthful women in front of you. Very beautiful women.'

Susan closed her eyes for a moment and fought for a moment, then glanced at the man in front of her. 'They're actually in the Whore Pits. The Seamstresses haven't got them yet, but Carrot has.'

She blinked.

In front of her, Nobby Nobbs looked downhearted.

* * *

**My Common Enemy **

The grey, hooded shapes came out of nowhere and flooded through her dreams, snatching up colour and life and leaving a sheet of rock in the sky.

Then they took the elephants, wiping them out with a mere thought. Though it wasn't a thought, because they couldn't think, and what was life if not thinking? Then Great A'Tuin vanished before Susan could scream, and the blank rock plummeted down, supported by nothing, because the Auditors had decided to forget about gravity for the time being. The graceless fall would never end.

Susan woke up, the scream dying in her throat.

* * *

**My Last Chance **

'I'm giving you one more chance, Susan.'

'They're learning, aren't they?' Susan said, trying to keep her voice level.

'It's calculus, Susan! They're six!'

'They can do it, though. I haven't told them it's supposed to be difficult.'

Madam Frout looked tormented by the evil which was mathematics, a subject she'd never had much truck with. She knew calculus existed, she just wasn't sure _why_.

'Parents are complaining that they can't do their children's homework.'

'They're not supposed to be. It's the children's homework.'

Then Madam Frout said the unsayable to a teacher:

'Can't you just stick to the curriculum?'

* * *

**My Malpractical Decision **

It was a stupid, stupid decision. One she'd regret for the rest of her life, one that, in years' time, she'd sigh about to her friends, one that she was always going to make anyway.

'Yes,' she told Lobsang that night. 'Yes, you can come in.'

He grinned and picked her up, kissing her deeply. She felt her face flush, the three lines being blocked out by the blood rushing to her face.

But afterwards, when she was dozing against his shoulder, it didn't feel like that bad a mistake. Illogical, maybe, but she was bloody fed up with logic.

* * *

**My Female Trouble **

Somehow, again, she had found herself in Biers with a gin and tonic which was now mostly gin. It'd get her drunk quickest.

'You shouldn't be drinking that much.'

She looked up and saw Sergeant Angua looking down at her.

'I'm not sure that's much of your business.'

'You'd be amazed. Some of the old laws that Captain Carrot comes out with.'

There was an extra dimension to that, and Susan was in a nosy mood. 'Giving you a bit of trouble, is he?'

Angua's face shut down. 'I'm sure that's none of your business. Use the back streets, please.'

* * *

**My Unicorn **

'Unicorns don't really exist,' said the textbook. 'They are mythological creatures. Children should not be encouraged to pursue one.'

Susan looked up at her class, who looked back enthusiastically.

'Right, class. This is how you catch a unicorn. Now, all of you at the moment should be able to do it, but very few of you will be able to when you grow up.'

'Why, miss?'

'Because unicorns hate adults,' she said confidently. 'Now, what you do is… what, Jason?'

'I know why unicorns don't like adults, miss.'

'Good, good. Now be quiet or I'll tell it to skewer you.'

* * *

**My Best Moment **

Susan had now been moved to the oldest class in the academy in order to give some actual education to the children before they went off to one of the Guilds.

So far it was working.

Melanie had been accepted to the Clockmakers' Guild, inspired by her visit to Genua. Penelope had shown a bit of cynicism and had joined the Guild of Exotic Dancers, which had been an interesting recommendation letter to Miss Dixie Voom. Vincent had gone to the Town Criers...

But the best moment was when Jason ran in.

'Miss, Miss! I'm going to join the Watch!'

* * *

**My Ocardial Infarction **

In hindsight, visiting the hospital and Doctor Lawn wasn't a great idea.

Dr Lawn had a grudge against children. It wasn't that he didn't like them, but they annoyed him and they were unhygienic and, if they weren't patients, shouldn't be allowed in.

Susan had to agree, but it was for Science.

And then Dr Lawn had set them homework...

She had the books to her left and a medical dictionary to her right, and a glass of gin in front of her. Slowly, she crossed out Miocardyl Infucshun and replaced it with Heart Attack. That would do for now.

* * *

**My Lucky Charm **

It was a small portrait on her desk, but it meant more than any other lucky charm could.

It wasn't even a good picture. Her mother looked pasty in cerise, her father uncomfortable in overly tight breeches, and she was a baby with huge hair. The background was too dark, the lighting made her mother's nose look huge.

But it still took pride of place in an office devoid of any human touch, with blank walls and neatly stacked piles of books, all in grey and black. The portrait of the family was the only splash of colour in there.

* * *

**My Hypocritical Oath **

It had always felt like she was living a lie with Lobsang, and it was because he knew.

No boyfriend had ever known before. There hadn't been many, but they'd always just been kept in the dark, left wondering why sometimes she seemed like she had vanished or appeared where they never wanted her to.

But Lobsang didn't care. Maybe it was because he was Time. Maybe it was because he was nice.

She still felt like a hypocrite every time she got cross that he was too busy at work. But that was just normality. And it was good.

* * *

**My Quarantine **

'I should have gone into quarantine,' the man mourned. 'Doctor told me to, but would I listen?'

Susan, getting very bored now and reading a book about dwarfs and a precious ring, didn't look up.

'I mean, I know it can be fatal 90% of the time...' The man paused. 'Aren't you going to say anything?'

'What, oh, sorry, I'M VERY SORRY.' But that wasn't really her grandfather. 'IT WAS YOUR OWN FAULT, THOUGH.'

The man seemed satisfied. 'I know. And I told them, but they wouldn't listen.'

Susan looked at the few grains clinging to the lifetimer, and sighed.

* * *

**My Life in Four Cameras **

_This is the room full of the scratching of words as they ink themselves from other people's lives, drawing inspiration like you or I might examine human traits. It's the room where every secret is written down, and then, in a way, it stops. _

_Every fact is known. Every single one, the one that you won't tell your parents, even the ones you won't tell your friends. _

_Be afraid. I know everything. _

Writing this, Susan did feel that it was a little cruel to put on a child's report. But when it was Jason, though, most things could be excused.

* * *

**My Roommates **

'Is this yours, Lobsang?' Susan called, holding up a red jumper, the right size for a doll, as Lobsang came into the room.

Never mind that she hated Hogswatch. Never mind that her flat was barely big enough for a tree, let alone the pine monstrosity that had arrived when she came back from work. Never mind that it felt too close, spending Hogswatch together.

'Never seen it,' he said. 'I thought it was yours.'

Their gaze travelled up to the top of the tree, where a black shape was standing. They hadn't put it there.

'Chirp?' Quoth said hopefully.

* * *

**My Best Laid Plans **

The day was planned out.

Wake up, get breakfast, work, don't kill Jason, _don't_ kill Penelope, who was thicker than a yard of lard, lunch, work some more, do marking, home.

It was the same yesterday. It would be the same tomorrow.

That was if she wasn't drafted in to fight some spirit, or pick up the pieces if Death decided he really wanted to be a member of the YMPA and started knitting and having good intentions. Then she would pick up the scythe and step into the boots.

She enjoyed a bit of a break now and then.

* * *

**My Boss' Free Haircut **

Madam Frout was wearing a hat.

This wasn't an occasion in itself. She was known to be a fan of hats, often wearing a bright red one to the temple of Om on Wednesdays, but this was a new hat. It was a very floppy hat, for a start; usually her hats were stiffened by the weight of fake fruit upon them.

Susan, therefore, had to see what was underneath the hat. Madam Frout was embarrassed about something.

So, she walked straight into her office, and stared.

Oh, Madam Frout regretted accepting that cut price hair dye from Throat Dibbler.

* * *

**My Lips Are Sealed**

'I'm just fed up with it, Rat, do you know what I mean?'

SQUEAK, the Death of Rats said consolingly.

They were in Biers, with the Death of Rat feasting on a piece of mouldy cheese which Igor had dug out. Susan had a gin and tonic with what she hoped was an olive resting on the napkin beside her.

'And he'll just go off if he's bored or wants to visit his friends at the farm and leaves me to pick up the pieces.' Her face went dark. 'You won't tell him, will you?'

SQUEAK, the rat said confidentially.

* * *

**My Big Move**

'I'm sorry, Twyla.'

The little girl was clinging to her skirts and wailing. 'I don't want you to go, Thuthan! I love you, Thusan!'

'Twyla, be quiet.'

The girl subsided, but tears of pure melodrama were running down her face. 'Will we get a new governeth-governess?'

'Probably.'

'Will she have a poker?'

'I doubt it.' Susan knelt down and took the girl's hands. 'You must teach her, Twyla,' she said seriously. 'Make sure you don't forget.'

'I won't.'

'Good girl. And what _don't_ we say to her when she arrives?'

'Susan'll hit you with a poker.'

'Good girl. Remember that.'

* * *

**My Faith in Humanity**

Lord Vetinari was a smart man, Susan would concede, with his theory of alloys. Increase the number of species, he had reasoned, and you increase the strength and the wealth, because all they do is make wealth.

And then you get the useless humans left behind, with their selfishness and cruelty. Ones like Teatime were driven by insanity, then you got Chickenwire and Peachy who hadn't learned what was right and what was plain evil.

But there were moments of humanity that she couldn't live without.

Like Banjo's smile when she gave him the puppy and it licked his face.

* * *

**My Drive-By**

'One chicken korma,' Susan said, glaring at the man behind the desk, who gulped. 'And a naan.'

'What kind of naan?'

'Any naan.'

'Only we're out of-'

'JUST GIVE ME THE NAAN.'

The man shuddered. 'One garlic. Sure.'

Susan turned around at the bony hand on her shoulder.

IT'S NOT GOOD FOR YOU, YOU KNOW.

'I can't be bothered to cook.'

NO, THE VOICE. IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO USE IT, WHY DO IT?

'It speeds things up.'

A paper bag was deposited in front of her. 'That'll be two dollars, please. And miss...'

'What?'

'There's no one behind you.'

* * *

**My Changing Ways**

Every glance in the mirror told her that she was growing older. A few lines around her stormy eyes, the beginnings of grey streaks in her monochrome hair, the way her dresses seemed a little tight around the waist.

Then there was the way in which she would get cramp in her legs after being on her feet all day. The way that people called her 'ma'am' instead of 'miss'. The way she found herself wanting a nap.

Death, maybe. Invisible in certain situations, yes. But, Susan reflected, at least she had one human trait.

At least she was mortal.


	5. Season 5: Vetinari

**Season 5 - Vetinari **

**My Intern's Eyes**

Sometimes, for fun, Vetinari tried to see the world through Lipwig's eyes. Knowing inside that he was an out and out crook and could never get away from it, and knowing that he, Vetinari, knew that and could use it at any point against him, and knowing that it was only the fact that he was a crook that he was kept. It could get a man down, Vetinari was sure.

But it was fun to test him. There was no room for stroppiness or 'why is it always me?' in politics, and Vetinari intended to show Lipwig exactly that…

* * *

**My Rite Of Passage**

'Never killed anyone, right, Dogbotherer?'

'Probably not, Downey.'

Well, it depended on what you meant by killing…

He'd…dispatched people. That was part of the job, even when you were sixteen and just out of training, because Assassins recognised that he really was good at this job. Born for it, they might have said. It might have been his background, that he was born into a position where the ability to use a thin knife and manipulated words was essential, but he didn't consider that as killing.

Killing had brutality. Killing lacked style, lacked panache.

So no, he'd never killed anyone.

* * *

**My Day At The Races**

Vetinari looked down at the crowded seats which ringed the Hippo, seeing the flags and the coloured scarves and then, floating amongst them, heads he _knew_ were in the Watch.

_Ah, Sir Samuel. _

He turned to Drumknott. 'I'm sure I've asked you this before, but do you happen to be a betting man?'

'On occasion, sir.' Drumknott was wearing a pink scarf. Vetinari didn't comment.

'So, what are the odds for this game?'

Drumknott thought for a moment. 'Well, logically they are in favour of the Morporkians.'

'Quite.' Vetinari brought out a coin. 'Call it a dollar?'

'You're on, sir.'

* * *

**My Jiggly Ball**

Vetinari unwrapped the small parcel, apparently sent from this Miss Adora Belle Dearheart in front of him. He made a point of not mentioning the name.

The severe mouth twitched slightly as the lid was opened and Vetinari picked something up.

'It's a ball,' he said blankly.

'A stress ball, sir.'

'Fascinating.' He looked down at the sphere in his hand, which appeared to be made of some closely woven fabric.

'Moist swears by them. Apparently they do a marvellous job.' She rose and looked down at him. 'I, personally, prefer stiletto heels.'

Vetinari was silent as she walked out.

* * *

**My New God**

Vetinari had a problem.

The city was rapidly becoming the city of Anoia, with prices of ladles and corkscrews doubling by the day after Throat Dibbler caught a whiff of a lucrative business, but Havelock Vetinari refused point blank to pledge allegiance to the goddess, now, of Lost Causes.

So, he needed another god.

Om was too far away, and too peaceful. Offler would mean tensions between Klatch. Blind Io was too cocky.

But there was one left…

'The Lady,' he murmured. It was perfect.

On the board of the gods another piece moved, placing everyone else's players in check.

* * *

**My Missed Perception**

Drumknott left the room, no doubt wondering about the ineptness of Fred Colon, and Vetinari leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

So, Captain Carrot had resigned. Well, not resigned, but had left the Watch for now. And that certainly was interesting…

For the pursuit of a girl. Well, calling Sergeant Angua a girl would probably lead to a few growls, but Vetinari still found it a bit odd that Captain Carrot, good, honest, honourable, chivalrous watchman, had left in pursuit of her. Even if they were very close.

He chided himself for not having seen it coming.

* * *

**My Way Home**

The back door opened.

'Havelock, I still don't see why such drama is needed.' This was said by a woman clearly wearing the largest dress in the room.

Vetinari dropped lightly to the floor and shook out his hair from the mud. 'I don't think there was any drama, Madam.'

'There are streets, you know.' She sniffed. 'Coming in over the roof. Is that any way to behave?'

'For an Assassin, yes.'

She looked around furtively. 'Keep your voice down. You _know_ how it's been since…'

'I'm aware of this.'

'Oh, just go and get changed. Into something _colourful_, please.'

* * *

**My Big Bird**

A wading bird…

Oh, sometimes the complexity of his lies astonished him. And the blind acceptance from Captain Vimes…it was almost as if the alcohol had addled his mind.

A wading bird. More like the embodiment of human nature which breathed fire and could, it appeared, drift weightlessly despite weighing tons, but for the purposes of this explanation it could well be a wading bird. Just a big one, with legs made of iron, though he doubted that that could survive the Ankh.

'Wonse?'

'Yes, my lord?'

'Send someone down to make a cast of that. Discreetly.'

'Yes, my lord.'

* * *

**My Half-Acre**

Vetinari sat in the gardens, a folding table in front of him. As the breeze brushed past some of the paper struggled to escape from endless bureaucracy.

The birds croaked, The animals in the zoo slumbered in the heat and the pen scratched across the paper on the first warm day of the year. And this was Vetinari's enjoyment allowance for today, as he knew it wasn't practical for a leader to enjoy gardens, even if they were full of amusing traps and deep holes.

He sighed as Drumknott brought another stack of paper towards him. Duty, as ever, called.

* * *

**Her Story II**

Margolotta looked down at the slumbering shape of Vetinari and wearily climbed out of bed.

She tiptoed out of the room - she knew her footsteps were as light as a cat's, but it was good to conform to expectations - and transformed into a thousand bats. The curtains streamed behind her as the night air blew in.

Below her, there was a figure who just couldn't wait to look at the castle. The bats streamed towards him…and stopped.

She thought of the figure in her bed, and what he had said, and went to look for a cow instead.

* * *

**My Buddy's Booty**

'Listen,' a man would slur, bending towards her and leering, 'you're a fine…fine…body…woman…'

'That'll be all,' Madam said sweetly, directing the man out of the door. But no sooner was he gone than another turned up.

'Ah, Dr Follett.'

The head of the Guild of Assassins was stroking her hair. 'Is this your own hair?'

'As much as it can be,' she said mildly. Then she caught Havelock looking innocently at the barrels of wine.

'Really?' she hissed. 'You _really_ drugged them?'

He simply grinned.

Another man came up behind Madam and tried to pinch her. He got a slap.

* * *

**My Cabbage**

It was proper for all the leaders of the Sto Plains to assemble once every four years* and _discuss_. They might discuss Tsortean rolls, but by gods they'd be discussing.

Vetinari was looking keenly at the girl beside him, apparently from Sto Helit.

'Good afternoon,' he said politely.

She turned to face him. GO _AWAY_.

'Ah, that family.' He smiled brightly. 'And how was your Tsortean roll?'

* * *

*The minimum time for disagreements to be brushed under the carpet and the portraits of leaders, adorned with darts and tears, to be replaced. The scorch on the table, however, will always remain.

* * *

**My Five Stages**

_Based on the 'five techniques' form of 'torture' (opinions vary) used during The Troubles. Positive, I know._

'The ginger beer technique?'

Vimes looked like he was searching for a helpful window to jump out of, but they were all a little too high. Still, desperate times…

'Ginger beer, Sir Samuel?' he asked again.

'Never heard of it.'

'That's odd. Because Sergeant Colon mentioned it to me the other day. In nervousness, of course.'

'What were…'

'That's irrelevant. All I want to know is whether you're still using those techniques now.'

Vimes stared at him. 'Gods, no!'

'Why not?'

'It's police brutality!'

Vetinari grinned briefly. 'Of course, your grace. Now, I must go and check on the scorpions.'

* * *

**My Own Personal Hell**

It wasn't just Vimes who couldn't stand Ronald Rust. Vetinari had his own rather unpleasant opinion of the watery eyed man in front of him who seemed to be trying to make himself taller.

'Abdicate?' he asked finally.

If Rust's chest could be any more puffed up he'd be floating around. 'Yes, my lo- Vetinari. Martial law, you understand.'

Oh, he certainly understood.

'Of course, my lord.' Rust's face flushed with the title. 'But I trust that you'll allow me to collect a few belongings first.'

'If you must.'

Two seconds later, Vetinari arrived at Leonard's room.

'That water device…'

* * *

**My Extra Mile**

An eight mile wide city on the back of a ten thousand mile wide turtle, and yet it had all this influence. Like a magnet, it drew everyone right into the centre of it.

And so when he looked out of the window every morning he could see dwarfs, trolls, gnolls, elves, medusas, every colour imaginable, which just flocked to the alleys and mud of the city, bringing with them wealth and rifts.

In Quarry Lane there was another march. The Watch was there, making sure that the police didn't cause much harm.

But that was the price you paid.

* * *

**My Bright Idea**

'What is this illness? People keep dying, man!'

'Well, they think that it's caused by the water, and then it…um…' The secretary took a look at Lord Winder's face. '…um, spreads.'

'Well, can't they stop it?'

'You'd need a whole new water supply, my lord.'

'Well, can't we get rid of the carriers?' Winder sighed in annoyance. 'Feed them to the scorpions? To the sharks?'

'My lord, we don't have any sharks. Cod, maybe?'

His Lordship went apoplectic.

Years later, Vetinari glanced into Winder's diary.

'Drumknott?' he called.

'Yes, my lord.'

'Have we made any progress in the shark front?'

* * *

**My Chopped Liver**

'Aren't you at all tempted?' Margolotta said, leaning above him and grinning, her pointed incisors shining in the flickering light.

'Not at all.' He was nonchalantly reading, pretending to be engrossed in the book.

She sighed and rolled over to lie next to him. 'Such a shame. There would be rewards, you know.'

'There are other ways of getting that control.'

'Name me one.'

'Politics?'

She sighed. 'Is that all you ever think about?'

'It's all I ever dare to.'

But late at night, when he was engrossed in other things, he occasionally wanted to bare his neck to her.

* * *

**My New Suit**

'And will you be wanting a dress robe, sir?' the secretary asked nervously.

'I beg your pardon?' Suddenly, memories of hellish Assassins' Guild balls arose in his mind.

'For when you go and visit the people, sir. And for ceremonial occasions, of course.'

'I would like a minute alone,' Vetinari said coldly and the secretary fled.

Then he sat down and started to draw a figure. It was tall and slight and wore a black robe, high necked, not at all showy.

'This is what I want,' he said when the man returned.

He smiled faintly. 'Of course, my lord.'

* * *

**His Story III**

Lord Downey glared over the expanse of the table in the Rats Chamber, his view neatly bisected by the axe about half way down.

About three acres of smooth wood away, Lord Vetinari glared back.

It was an immature feud, though one that had existed since the tender age of fourteen. Havelock came in a year late and by that point Downey was already top dog. It was something in the blood.

But Vetinari had come in and taken no notice of him...

And still, in a room where they were all lords, Downey felt Vetinari looking straight through him.

* * *

**My Lunch**

It had become a game between them now, now that Vetinari was lying in bed completely dependent on Vimes. Or at least that was what he let Vimes think.

It had started relatively mildly.

'A Klatchian Hots without anchovies?' he asked.

And it had progressed.

'Figgins, Commander?'

'Best thing for it, sir,' Vimes said woodenly.

'Cocoa?' Vetinari lifted a spoon out with difficulty as the liquid went gloop. 'I understand that it's sustaining.'

'Always served me well, sir.'

He wasn't surprised, after he had risen, to find that the Watch had put in a request for a larger food budget.

* * *

**My Fallen Idol**

_No, I am not insinuating Carrot/Vetinari. No. Just no. No one should ever think about that *shudders*_

Vetinari crumpled to the floor, his leg going out from underneath him, and Carrot leapt.

He didn't know why he leapt. He didn't know what powered his leg muscles at that moment, apart from the fact that it wasn't his brain, but he was in the air and sailing towards Vetinari.

The world stopped. Vetinari looked shocked, something Carrot had never seen, and he was in trouble.

With the true copper's instinct, he had tried to protect the law. And that, in this parody of a city, was the man in front of him.

He pushed him to the floor.

* * *

**My Deja Vu My Deja Vu**

Gods, this was déjà vu at its finest. Havelock was lying on the rooftops, feeling the tiles bite through the thin grey clothes, and staring down at the Palace.

He remembered the last time he'd done this, swallowing the faint fear as he pushed open the door with his left hand and held the dagger - the bloodless dagger - in his right.

But this time he knew exactly who would take over, and he liked it.

High above the city, just far enough away for Hide Park to look picturesque in the twilight, Vetinari thought about the Patrician's chair.

* * *

**My Urologist**

The Doctors' Guild wasn't known for their power, Vetinari being of the mindset that trusting a man who saw a human being as different lumps of flesh strung together was foolish.

But now the head of the Guild was in his office, looking sleep deprived from long shifts. The leather apron resembled more a butcher, though.

Vetinari sighed. No one had been able to find Doughnut Jimmy, not after that escapade with Chrysoprase, although Vetinari had his sources in Quirm. It just wasn't fair on the poor man.

'There is a personal problem, doctor,' he told the man, who gulped.

* * *

**My Transition**

He'd gotten into the Assassins' Guild.

Well, it was a given, really. His father was a lord, and _definitely_ acted like one, so he'd been guaranteed a place from the day he was born. But he was the one who'd applied and gone through the interview and had shown that special prowess which had gotten him into the most selective house, not his father. And now he was in control.

He'd finished packing and was sitting on his suitcase, staring out over the city.

Yes, he was on the ladder. A long ladder, but he _would_ get to the top.


	6. Season 6: City

**GeoffG: I feel loved :) And I feel ashamed to admit that I've never read any Fleming but once I've got a minute I will. I'm still taking it as a compliment, though.**

**wwwhiskers: Me and Susan have a love/hate relationship, I like her, I'm not as fond of the books she's in. **

**koryandrs: Will do, my faithful reviewer. **

**TreacleMineRoad: Vetinari's really, really hard to write, so I'm glad that he was up to standards. And I like Susan, I just don't like the books. It's confusing, but there you go. And, by the way, I'm loving the name.**

**By the way, I didn't forget about you lot, I've just been very busy. Sorry :( But here is the chapter which I've entitled 'City', also known as 'I can't stop writing the Watch and oh god I haven't done the wizards and can I make up another half dozen seasons of Scrubs?' Turns out I can't, so here you go.**

**Wizards, Miss Cripslock and ''Tis Pity She's A Tree' galore.**

**Enjoy :)**

**Season 6 - City **

** My Mirror Image**

The leaflet proclaimed '_Wellcom to Ankh-Morporke, A Cite Fulle of Surprizs'_.

Bengo Macarona had to admit that it wasn't quite what he had expected.

For one thing, the leaflet that he had been sent from Unseen University showed a bright, well lit, new building with friendly looking wizards smiling out at him. It was, in reality, a crumbling block of stone buildings with a terrifying 800ft tall tower dwarfing everything around it, and the only thing approaching a wizard that he could see was an elderly dwarf pushing a wheelbarrow.

This was what he got for bowing down to advertising.

* * *

**My Best Friends' Baby's Baby And My Baby's Baby**

Lord Vetinari had a problem. Two problems, actually.

One was that Sacharissa Cripslock was pregnant. And William de Worde, instead of focusing his attention on spelling errors in the Times, was focusing on his wife's every need and trying to dodge the quill pens that she was throwing at him.

The other was that Adora Belle Dearheart was pregnant. And Moist was more than a little bit frazzled with his wife's constant demands for chocolate, gin and cigarettes, and had a hole straight through his ear from a well placed stiletto.

Vetinari sighed. Family was such a problem in politics.

* * *

**My Coffee**

'And are there any special requirements from the ambassadors of Borogravia?'

Drumknott looked at his list, which was noticeably shorter than the list of topics to discuss that Vetinari had in front of him. 'Just the one, sir. They require a plentiful supply of coffee in their room.'

That was another thing. There were only two people coming, Miss Perks and her assistant.

'Coffee?'

'Klatchian Rare Roasted, it says. They don't specify why.'

Vetinari looked down at his notes, noted the 'B-Total Vampire' and briefly thought about Margolotta.

'Make sure there's a very good supply. Only the best, as well.'

* * *

**My House**

The wizards, theoretically, were allowed to do whatever they wanted in their offices. Once upon a time, when the restriction wasn't in place, there had been the problem of giant chickens*, now all the cleaners had to deal with was the odd viscous green slime from under the door.

Some wizards, though, took it a bit far.

The Archchancellor entered the room of the Dean, who was known to be a big consumer and just wanted as many big things as he could get.

Inside, there was a three story mansion.

'Dean!' he bellowed.

* * *

*Brazeneck hadn't applied this rule yet.

* * *

**My Friend With Money**

'Havelock, my dear,' crooned his Auntie Parthenope. 'I've heard that you've been promoted.'

Only in his family, he thought, could 'becoming the Patrician' be classified as 'promoted'.

'Thank you for the well wishes,' he said, smiling tightly. 'And how is Uncle Theodore?'

'Oh, well, we're all getting older.' The woman in front of him, caked in makeup, looked shameful. 'Actually, Havelock, I was meaning to speak to you…'

Vetinari sighed.

'It's just that we've always wanted to go to Quirm for a holiday, and well, with your promotion…'

There really was more to this Patrician malarkey than met the eye.

* * *

**My Musical**

The cultural attaché for Genua was sitting in the Opera House. To his left were 'dem big gold baby things', compulsory for every theatre, which were possibly coated in a golder-than-gold paint, but, as the attaché for Ankh-Morpork had pointed out, had not been stolen yet.

The cultural attaché had got one thing right, though. He had been right to be so proud of the culture of his city, which the Genuan hadn't seen anywhere else.

Before him on the stage a huge woman was bellowing out '_Tis Pity She's A Tree'_. The man wiped a tear from his eye.

* * *

**His Story IV**

Mossy Lawn was fed up.

Fed up with patients. Fed up with this bloody hospital with its bloody nurses running around like headless chickens, as if that ever made any use. Fed up with having to wear a stupid white coat.

But every time he saw Vimes, Sybil and Young Sam, who was now six months old, walking around the city, the commander and his wife holding hands discreetly, he could excuse it all.

And when Young Sam came, at the age of fourteen, and asked if he could be his apprentice, Lawn couldn't keep the grin off his face.

* * *

**My Road To Nowhere**

71 Hour Ahmed felt like he was walking the wrong way. The Prince had told him never to visit the city, but it was hard to keep track of a person who policed two million square miles of desert. So here he was.

He knocked on the door of Pseudopolis Yard and smiled at Carrot.

'I'm here to see the Commander.'

'I'm afraid he's with his son at the moment.' Carrot smiled at Ahmed's confusion. 'A lot of things have changed since you last saw us.'

'Yes,' Ahmed said, looking around at the smartness of the Watch House. 'They have.'

* * *

**My Perspective**

'It depends which way you look,' Rosie Palm said. 'Either we're…what did Lord Rust call it? Sleazy old baggages?'

'I paraphrased, but go on.'

'Or we're providing a valuable public service, and at least all our members are clean and respectable.

'I'm aware of that.'

'So, my lord, we need a guild. It requires no action from you but a signature. And maybe we'll give you a little something in return.'

'You won't be swaying me with that.'

'How about we reveal your aunt's history?'

Vetinari waved a hand. 'And she would so enjoy that. Just a signature, you say?'

* * *

**My Therapeutic Month**

'I do not need to see the Fresh Start Club,' Angua said flatly.

'But Reg really needs some more members,' Carrot said persuasively. 'And you're high up in the werewolf community, so maybe it'll inspire some of them to go.'

Angua mouthed 'It'll be a benefit to the community' at exactly the same time Carrot said it, and he frowned at her.

'Look, it's once a month. You just have to do it once.'

'But I don't want to.'

'Please, Angua?'

She arrived outside the Fresh Start Club's headquarters, caught the scent of vampire, and immediately turned away.

'No, Carrot.'

* * *

**My Night To Remember**

'What?' Arthur Winkings shouted. 'A _what_?'

His wife seemed very absorbed. 'After that…fracas with the lawyer the other day…well, there may be some side effects.'

'A _vampire_? You call that side effects?'

'A long lost heir.' Doreen's eyes seemed far away. 'A castle…the fine traditions of an old family…'

'I'm a grocer.'

'You're a count now,' his wife said firmly. 'Now, go and order some red silk. I'll have you a cape made up.'

'A grocer.'

She looked at him sternly. 'Never forget your heritage.'

He was left, bemused, as she went to enquire about planning permission for a moat.

* * *

**My Fishbowl**

Igor whistled as he went down to the cells and to his little office, where Commander Vimes had permitted his experiments. All the watchmen had their own hobbies, this was just Igor's preference*.

In the tank some potatoes were doing breaststroke, swimming back and forth in a container the length of the room. Next door to that, Igor was breeding docile fish.

He sighed and started feeding the potatoes. After a day dissecting dead things, it was good to be able to create some life.

* * *

*Though Nobby still wasn't allowed to convert one of the bedrooms into a dance studio.

* * *

**My Scrubs**

'So, Commander, any progress on the murder of Miss Treble?'

Vimes looked distracted. 'You mean the woman attacked by her own bass clarinet?'

Sacharissa hurried after him. 'Our readers are very interested in her.'

'Worried that they'll be attacked by the Singing Swinger? Now put on these gloves.'

Sacharissa slipped the gloves on without thinking. 'So, has any progress been made?'

Then she looked around. Without realising, she had been led into the autopsy room.

'Yes,' said Vimes, examining the bloodied corpse. Sacharissa felt sick. 'Suicide.'

'She hit herself?'

'No. She walked into the Mended Drum and asked to play.'

* * *

**My No Good Reason**

The men stared at the long expanse of the 1500 metres. Beside them, the group from Brazeneck, similarly pudgy and pasty, did the same.

'Why, Archchancellor?' the Chair of Indefinite Studies moaned. 'Why would you do this?'

The Archchancellor looked over at the Dean. The Dean rubbed his hands together in the manner of a bad tempered female aristocrat.

'No reason,' he lied. 'Just instilling a bit of competitiveness.'

'You've seen us with the cheese trolley,' the Lecturer of Recent Runes whined. 'That's being competitive.'

'Nonsense.' The Archchancellor sent a death glare to the Dean. 'On your marks, get set…'

* * *

**My Long Goodbye**

'Have you got the food for the imps?' Sacharissa asked.

'Yes, dear.'

'And have you got all the pigeons?'

'Yes, dear.'

'And have you got Otto?'

'Yes, dear.'

'And you've got all the ink?.'

'Yes, dear.'

'Will you stop sounding henpecked?'

'Yes… sorry.'

Sacharissa looked deflated. 'I just don't want anything to go wrong.'

William said, putting a hand on her arm. 'I'll send you everything and you can come up with snazzy headlines to console yourself.'

'Be quiet.' She kissed him briefly. 'See you in a few months.'

As William left the city, he found herself already missing _her_.

* * *

**My Words of Wisdom**

'Right, Comfort,' Mrs Palm said, looking at her newest recruit. 'Do you want the name of a flower or a jewel?'

'Neither,' Comfort said gruffly. ''m happy with Comfort. It suits me.'

Rosie had to admit that it did. It was fairly large chair that Comfort had occupied, but she still had to wriggle a bit to fit all of herself in. Still, she'd had a good letter of recommendation from Borogravia, and they needed variety for the more _experienced_ sort of men.

Comfort cracked her knuckles. Suddenly, Rosie really didn't want to argue with her.

'Comfort it is, then.'

* * *

**Their Story**

'Goodmountain!'

The dwarf turned round and scowled. 'What?'

'It's William and Sacharissa! I came across them in the office, and they, well…'

It eventually transpired that Caslong entered the office saw Sacharissa and William displaying their affection - though still thankfully clothed. When they discovered it wasn't that private, well, it was lucky that Caslong had ran out in time.

Goodmountain harrumphed. 'Well, as long as they do it in private I really don't give a damn.'

He did, really. It just made him feel romantic when he saw their love, and he suddenly developed an allergy to the paper.

* * *

**My Turf War**

They'd been rivals since the day they arrived at the University. Well, that wasn't strictly true - for a while they'd been as close friends as a wizarding school, where pupils were prone to exploding, would allow, but from then on…

The Archchancellor felt a growl rising in his throat as the Arch-no, he couldn't use the word - the head of Brazenose ran through the door, pausing to rearrange his stomachs, and then stopped.

'Mustrum,' he said coldly.

'Henry.' Ridcully's tones were icy.

Then the Dean set off running again as a giant chicken came charging through the door.

* * *

**My Cold Shower**

'Come on, Bursar, it'll do you good,' Ridcully bellowed. The Bursar's hat was trembling

'I don't like deep elephants,' the Bursar proclaimed.

'Now, put your hand in your pocket, Bursar. Pull out the carton, yes, that one, and take out a pill and swallow it.' There was a pause as the Bursar tried to inhale the huge tablet, then thought better of it. 'Better?'

His eyes did seem more focused. 'I don't like deep water.'

'Nonsense, man. Just dive right in.'

'I don't like it.'

The Archchancellor gave a nod and two bledlows pushed the Bursar straight into the Ankh.

* * *

**My Conventional Wisdom**

_Just because, in this episode, Dr Kelso sticks a beer bottle to his face._

Captain Vimes made a noise not unlike someone being sat on.

'Where am I?'

'You're at my house, dearie,' the voice of Rosemary Palm said. 'Hungover as a dog, I might add. Can you sit up?'

Vimes did so, with difficulty, and looked around. This room was a little nicer than some he'd been in over the years, although the mark of a seamstress was in the ornate 'velvet' curtains and the red dress Mrs Palm was wearing.

Then he reached a hand up to his face and hit something which felt like a beer bottle.

'Oh, my gods.'

'Exactly.'

* * *

**My Rabbit**

Sacharissa squinted at the vegetable in the box in front of her, but this particular shape was evading her.

'A man's…you know?' she offered. It was always a good bet.

'Nope.' Mister Wintler, she noticed, was looking a bit tired today.

'Um…is it a rabbit?'

To her amazement, when she looked up tears were running down Mr Wintler's cheeks. 'I know they ain't been as funny as usual,' he sniffed, blowing his nose vigorously. 'But the harvest's not been great, it's too dry…'

Sacharissa silently thanked the god of weather. Maybe she could finally put that article about inflation in.

* * *

**My Point of No Return**

Om stared down dismally at the smoking city.

Not smoking because it was on fire, though that was common enough, just smoke pouring from chimneys and grates, along with the river fumes and the fog, which mixed over the city and created a dark mist clinging to the top of the Tower of Art.

Anoia was in favour now, because of that stupid upstart Postmaster who had made his way onto the board. And with the heat of summer people were turning to Offler, and for the simple folk the Potato Church was always on offer.

But he'd been forgotten.


	7. Season 7: Monstrous Regiment

**Alright, I'll admit it. I love Monstrous Regiment and Polly/Mal is actually the only non-canon couple I can ever see working. So go on and sue me.**

**(please don't. I'm a broke student and Hogswatch is coming.)**

So, enjoy :)

* * *

**Season 7 - Monstrous Regiment **

**My Own Worst Enemy**

'You're far too close, Strappi,' Polly dodged him neatly.

'Not close enough, _sergeant_.'

He went down with a knee to the ham and eggs and a soft grunt, then a whimper, then, when he realised he'd been noticed and very high ranking officials were coming down the corridor, he started yelling.

'She hit a superior officer!'

'Is that right, _Corporal_ Strappi?' She was flying on the wings of audacity now, not caring that the generals are coming closer. 'Need someone to make a man out of you.'

He shut up, then, but not before General Froc had shaken her hand.

* * *

**My Hard Labor**

'This isn't an easy job, is it?' Private Cannon, also known as Mildred to her friends, asked Polly.

'Not especially.' They were digging a trench in a field to bury one of the fallen who they'd found. 'But some might say it's rewarding.'

'Like those posters?' Polly had instilled cynicism in her troops on their first meeting, considering it a skill.

'Something like that,' she muttered into the soil. 'Why, you don't like it anymore?'

'It's just…different.'

Polly looked up at the dark clouds, the skulking mountains, the deep crimson burn of the battlefield ahead.

'You can say that again.'

* * *

**My Inconvenient Truth**

'You're a boy?' Polly asked, alarmed. 'Like…male?'

'Yes.' The boy in front of her didn't look more than fifteen, straggly, muddy. 'Me mam says I need a man made outa me.'

'She's got that right,' Polly said, straightening herself up. 'You, my lad, could be mistaken for a girl. Now, that's not a bad thing, is it?'

The boy sensed that this was a trick question. 'No, ma'am.'

'What, you want to be girly? Oh, grow a pair. And it's sergeant.'

The boy gulped. Polly felt a little ashamed.

'Go and see the others, private. You're in for a shock.'

* * *

**My Identity Crisis**

'You alright, Paul?' Polly asked, coming down the stairs. 'Where's Shuf… Betty?'

'She's feeding Jack,' Paul said, staring into the distance. Polly sat down next to him.

'Are you alright?'

He sighed. 'You're in the army, right, Pol? And you're, like, high up?'

'Sort of.'

'Well, I wish I was.' Paul sniffed. 'It's just, I was in the army. I was going to go out for the Duchess, and now it's you instead.'

Polly stayed silent.

'I just don't know what I'm supposed to do, Polly.'

She patted him on the arm. There was nothing much that she _could_ do.

* * *

**My Growing Pains**

'What's wrong, sarge?' Maladicta asked, slouching down in the chair with practiced ease. Nothing that..._elegant_...could be natural.

'Damn paperwork,' Polly muttered.

'Ah, the problems of rank.' Mal started to make the coffee. 'You shouldn't have let them promote you past corporal.'

'You've still got paperwork.'

'I'm technically your deputy. You do the paperwork.'

'Hang on.' Polly held up a hand and tried to ignore the expression on Mal's face. 'Surely you should do it?'

'Oh, bugger.' Mal considered it for a moment. 'Couldn't I help you in other ways?'

'Maybe.'

And Polly, afterwards, didn't give a damn about the paperwork.

* * *

**My Number One Doctor**

'Arrow to the leg, tharge,' Igorina shouted, running over to the fallen man. 'He's bleeding, but he thhould make it.'

'Leave him, private!' Jackrum shouted, running towards the battlefield. 'Them Morporkan bas-'

'I'm not leaving him, tharge.'

'Private Igor, I've given you an order!'

'Code of the Igorth, thargent,' Igorina said sulkily. 'I can't leave him.'

Jackrum looked up, then down, then up as if looking for divine intervention. But Igorina had unpacked already.

'Very well,' he grunted, as if it was him all along. 'But if he don't make it, you're not to turn him into a goodie bag.'

* * *

**My Bad Too**

There was a bottle of alcohol. Which alcohol didn't matter anymore.

'It was my fault,' Polly slurred.

'Mine.' Mal was more sober.

'I was the one who told her to step over there.'

'I was the one who recommended her to you.' Mal took another swig. 'So it's my fault.'

'Mine.'

'Mine.'

'Oh, I'm too tired for this shit.' Polly slumped down onto the table, nearly knocking over the long-discarded glass. 'And now he's dead.'

'She.'

'Well, yeah, but she was never very feminine.' They both remembered Guster's wind problem.'

Under her breath, Polly started whistling 'All The Little Angels'.

* * *

**My Manhood**

Jackrum thought for a minute. 'Never have I ever slept with someone of the same sex.'

This took a moment. Memories, and dormitories, could get a little crowded in war time.

Slowly, everyone raised a hand.

'Me again, is it? Well, never have I ever...' She stopped as he heard the first snore. Looking around, all the other men had fallen asleep. Well, the moon was fairly high up.

'You haven't done a thing, lads,' she muttered to herself. 'Aye, and you put on a bloody good show.'

She stared at the sky and thought of the baby, long ago.

* * *

**My Dumb Luck**

If Jackrum had a god, Polly thought, it would be Luck. Luck, with her green eyes forever watching the playing board of life.

'You're lucky to be alive, Perks.'

'Many a time have I prayed and asked for a spot of luck to get out of this.'

'It's just luck, Perks. Well, and brain, a lot of the time.'

'Count yourself lucky you're not in his boots. Mind you, decent boots, they are. Bit o' luck finding them.'

All in all, Polly thought, there were probably worse things to have on your side.

The Duchess, if she was feeling cynical.

* * *

**My Waste Of Time**

There was the bar, shiny and pale with spilt beer over the centuries and the pressure of hundreds of elbows leaned against it. On the walls were the expensive bottles, each with its own safe place lest someone get a little violent.

And then the bathrooms, with their graffiti and foul smelling urinals. She cleaned them till she could finally see her face in the taps.

And then the tables and chairs, which she seemed to spend her lift moving around to fit more in.

And the office where Paul would never be allowed.

And that was all there was.

* * *

**My Princess**

'Ooh!' 'Daphne' trilled, jumping away from the cooker. 'It's a mouse! A rat!'

The cooks, up to their bulging red arms in scalding water, raised their eyebrows. Blouse stopped and looked furiously at Polly.

The look said, _You had better act the part, private._

The look he got in return said, _No_.

Thankfully, it was Tonker who stepped into action. 'Sorry, ladies. Hi- sorry, her last job was a bit posher than this. Turned her into a bit of a princess,' she hissed fiercely, daring Blouse to contradict.

The beefy washerwomen were not impressed. Still, he ironed like a demon.


	8. Season 8: Moist von Lipwig

**TreacleMineRoad: I just love the fact that they have an iron maidenette, because they can't have a full sized one. Genius, PTerry. And Monstrous Regiment isn't a crossover, it's part of the Discworld series too.**

**GeoffG: Scorpion pits, meh. No, I'm joking. I would be awful under torture. And I love Polly/Mal, it's just there. It's obvious. **

**So, Moist von Lipwig. Anyone read Raising Steam yet? It's brilliant :D**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

**Season 8 - Moist (18)**

**My Jerks**

Adora looked contemptuously over the windowsill at her fiance hanging from the ivy, dressed from head to toe in black.

'Really?'

'Really,' Moist panted. 'Give me a hand, will you?'

She reached down and swung him up and through the window, with a purposeful bang on the frame.

'That hurt.'

'It's your fault for trying to break into our house! Why?'

He looked embarrassed. 'It'd been a slow day.'

She sighed. 'Sometimes I wonder why I let you ask me to marry you.'

'Then you remember?'

'Then it doesn't matter anymore,' she said. 'I'm too busy rescuing you from windows.'

* * *

**My Last Words**

'And are you staying here permanently?' Mrs Maccalariat asked coldly. 'You're not going to be running the Watch or running the city next, are you?'

'Fear not, Iodine,' Moist said gallantly, kissing her hand and noting the blush. 'How could I leave you here on your own?'

'Mr Lipwig, I am serious,' she said sternly. 'I need to know that I have a stable job. Chlorine wishes to apply for a position at the bank, and it's very competitive between us.'

Moist raised his eyebrows. 'The bank? Well, I wish her luck, but I wouldn't touch it with a bargepole.'

* * *

**My Saving Grace**

'Um, hi, Anoia,' Moist tried to ignore the disapproving glance of the High Priestess and the clanking of many sacred drawers.

'I promise I've still been thinking of you, it's just been a bit hectic. You know what I mean. But I really need a favour.' He paused. 'Um, it's my wedding today. If you could make sure that Adora doesn't run out half way through or come in wearing another grey dress, or that her drunken granny doesn't kiss me halfway through, well, that'd be great.'

'I really hope you can make it. I did send a letter. Express.'

* * *

**My Happy Place**

Here he was, in his happy place. Up on the roof of his post office, listening to the gentle coo of the pigeons and the squawking of the Smoking Gnu and trying to ignore the everyday sounds from below, like piercing screams.

This was the life. The sun, the breeze, the sound of heels on the ground below. The sound of heels walking quickly away; they'd been scolded by Gladys.

A couple of minutes later he heard heavy breathing and someone making their way up the ladder.

'Ah, Miss Cripslock. The Times is scaling new heights for journalism, I see.'

* * *

**My ABCs**

Whose idea was it to set up a school in the Post Office?

Vetinari, of course. Known for his genius ideas and his killing two birds with one stone, he felt that he could maximise the Post Office's productivity and get the little kiddies educated at the same time.

Alright, so he was bitter.

But it wasn't good, having kids running all over the place. They might break into the room where the sorting engine lay, now defunct and broken, and who knew what childish hands could do. Imagine if pi was four?

And Gladys had been getting maternal recently…

* * *

**My Cookie Pants**

'Adora!'

'What?' came the reply.

'It's ten past! We're late!'

'Oh, sod Vetinari.'

Moist, now concerned, walked up the stairs and into his bedroom, where Adora was hiding behind a plate of cookies.

'Adora?'

'What?' she asked defensively. 'I just wanted cookies.'

He frowned, noticing for the first time that she wasn't cloaked in acrid cigarette smoke. 'When did you last have a fag?'

'Oh, you had to remind me, didn't you?'

'Adora, what's going on?'

She paused, seeming uncomfortable. 'I think I'm pregnant.'

He nodded dumbly, the words not quite sinking in. 'I think Vetinari can sod off, dear.'

* * *

**My New Role**

He'd been the Postmaster General, with the winged hat and the gold suit and the stamps, because he was famous for his stamps. They were like gold dust now, the ones with errors on, and he'd created that from nothing.

And he was the Manager of the Bank, a title as sombre as it sounded, with a rich black hat and an overcoat. And he'd been the one to introduce notes, and now every time people saw one they'd think of him.

But now he had an entirely new role.

Now he'd have to learn how to be a husband.

* * *

**My Lawyer's in Love**

_Or, My Probation Officer's in Love_

'I Will Need To Request A Leave Of Absence For Next Thursday,' Mr Pump rumbled. Moist looked up, surprised.

'What for?'

'I Wish To Visit Pump 304 At The Palace.'

'I'm sorry, what?'

Mr Pump looked slightly offended, despite being a seven foot clay machine with burning red holes for eyes. 'I Have A Date With Pump 304 On Thursday Night. We Are Going For Tea.'

Moist blinked. 'Tea?'

'Yes, Mr Lipvig. I Shall Make Sure That I Arrange Cover For Myself So That You Are Not Left…To Your Own Devices.'

Moist groaned and put his head on the desk.

* * *

**My Absence**

_From Vimes's POV, because I've missed him._

'So, what's been happening?' Vimes asked. 'And don't give me any innocent looks, Carrot, I know when you're lying.'

'Pretty much the same, sir.'

'Don't kid around, captain. This is Ankh-Morpork.'

'There was one thing...'

'Yes?'

'Well, you know that Mr Lipwig and Miss Dearheart got married.'

'Yes.' How could he forget?

'Well, there was a bit of a fracas afterwards. Or a calamity.'

'Oh, gods.'

'It culminated in Miss Dearheart's grandmother running over the roofs wearing...well, nothing, and shouting that she was open minded if Mr Lipwig was.'

Vimes stared. 'I missed this?'

'I knew you'd be disappointed, sir.'

* * *

**My Comedy Show**

The postman peered through the door of the Fools' Guild. Inside, there was some sort of ceremony taking place.

As he watched in astonishment a series of custard pies were flung at three submissive clowns who had their hands held up. Behind them, another clown was forced into a mock up plywood doorway whilst whitewash was poured straight down his shirt, and the postman shuddered as slime was poured over a junior clown's head.

A clown came over.

'What's going on?' he asked, handing over the parcel.

'Punishment time,' the clown said gloomily. 'These ones made up their own jokes.'

* * *

**My Nah Nah Nah**

Moist glared at the window. The reflection in the window glared back, being neatly sliced into pieces by the raindrops which trickled down the glass. It wasn't doing anything for his mood.

Also, Vetinari was talking at him about something he didn't care about. Something about taxes, something about the tax master getting on a bit now...it didn't concern him.

'Huh?' he said.

Vetinari looked annoyed. 'Mister Lipwig, I am offering you a very lucrative position. I would posit to you that it might be a good idea to take it seriously.'

Moist stared. 'I'm sorry, can you repeat that?'

* * *

**Their Story II**

Mad Al blew a smoke ring, much to the annoyance of Undecided Adrian who was trying to mend a tiny fault in the clacks. It had led to the only message coming out of the tower being 'AWK! IT COMES! IT COMES!'

'Can you stop that?' he said grumpily. 'You know it plays havoc with the strings.'

'It's pissing it down.'

'Then don't smoke!'

Adrian sent a quick message to Adora Belle Dearheart's tower, to the left of them. She was their source of entertainment; they enjoyed the moaning.

ALL OF US SUFRNG FROM 'CABIN FEVER'. COME QUIK. NO FAGS.

* * *

**My Full Moon**

'All right, Captain Angua?' Moist asked, noticing how she was biting her nails and looking longingly towards the door.

The calendar showed a full circle next to the moon phases.

'You can leave if you want.'

'No,' Angua said firmly. 'I want to know why it was you were breaking into your own flat last night.'

'For the thrill of it.'

'Oh, give me a break.'

'You can bang me up if you want,' he joked, holding out his wrists in demonstration and Angua's eyes immediately focused on the veins.

Moist reminded himself to not kid around with _this_ officer.

* * *

**My Soul on Fire I**

'Argh!' Moist moaned, feeling the freezing water turn his skin to ice and his head into a throbbing mess. Eyes closed, he tried to batter the tap, but merely succeeded in turning it straight to burning hot.

'Ooh! Aah! Adora!' he yelled.

There was the click of heels and Adora appeared in the door of the bathroom, her eyebrows raised and cigarette alight. Silently, she opened the door and turned the water off.

Moist, naked and bright red, tried to reclaim some of his dignity. 'Thank you. Now, can you go and tell Hubert to stop playing with the pipes.'

* * *

**My Soul on Fire II**

'HUBERT!'

There was another shriek from the bathroom as the water, now freezing, started to trickle down Moist's bath and Adora fought down a sadistic smile.

'Hubert, I'm warning you. You mess around with those pipes again and I'll-' There was another shriek.

'Hubert, I'll smash the glooper. I'm serious here. And who the hell made these doors so slippery?'

Another scream.

'How the-' There was a pause whilst he spat out water. 'These doors won't open!'

Adora Belle Dearheart, who'd been nicknamed Killer for a very good reason, took out her screwdriver and started playing with the pipes again.

* * *

**My Cuz**

_"Look at you. There is no way around it. You are a beautiful man."— J.D._

_"Thank You, J.D."— Sean_

Moist held up the stamp, bought from the man he had nicknamed Terrifying Hairy Dave, and Stanley's eyes widened.

'Mister Lipwig,' he breathed, reaching out and taking it. 'Could this be…could this be the Year of the Elephant forbidden Commander Vimes tuppeny stamp, all of which were confiscated by the Watch after they ignited whenever the Commander got angry?'

'The very same,' Moist beamed. 'Apparently Dave has his sources in the Watch.'

Stanley looked up, tears in his eyes. 'Mister Lipwig, you are a beautiful man.'

Moist really should have remembered that when Stanley started to get jealous of Adora.

* * *

**My Chief Concern**

'Alright, Chief?' the young ledger said, smiling up at him. 'Happy day come yet?'

'No,' Moist said flatly. Then he realised that that wasn't the role that he was supposed to play, and tried to cheer up.

'Sorry, mate. Bit of a rough day.'

'Oh, I know. Me mam's due any day.'

'Well, good luck to her. And good luck to your dad.'

The boy grinned and carried on, and Moist carried on up the stairs. Then, as he reached the office, he slumped down and tried to curl into a ball.

'Has The Happy Occasion Come Yet, Mr Lipvig?'

* * *

**My Finale**

There was a scream, then a swear, then the sizzle of a cigarette end hitting a person's skin, then the sound of a stiletto heel burying itself into a wall. It twanged.

Below, curled up in a ball on the sofa, Moist grinned.

Then there was a cry, and it wasn't the midwife's as Adora punched her. It was a different cry, more high pitched, more vulnerable.

Oh, screw modesty.

He ran up the stairs and burst through the door, ignoring the shock on the midwives' faces and just seeing Adora in front of him, a blanket in her hands.


	9. Season 9: Night Watch

**TreacleMineRoad: Oh, sorry. My mistake. Though now I'm imagining a proper Scrubs/Discworld fanfic...involving Death...and syringes. Watch this space.**

**GeoffG: Your drug? No, I'm not worried at all. But I'll take it as a compliment.**

**BenRG: A new reviewer! *hugs* I'd had a really bad day and came home to have 15 emails, and felt loved, so thank you. In response to all your reviews: I just don't think that any grandfather would want to have their grandchild knowing the exact descriptions of how their parents died, particularly if Death had the power to stop it. There are some things children, however old they are, shouldn't know. Vimes, Ironfoundersson and Lipwig...well, it's certainly a combination of surnames. And there should be more Discworld stories. Write!**

* * *

**So, sorry for the delay. Finishing a 75,000 word novel, failing Chemistry, it all adds up. But I'm back. Sadly, this is the last of the series here, but feel free to check out more of my works, they'll be updated in due course.**

**Night Watch! Well, the old Night Watch. Don't we love 'em?**

**Enjoy :)**

* * *

**Season 9 - Night Watch **

**Our First Day of School**

'Here,' Corporal Quirke said gleefully, picking up the chainmail shirts with practiced ease and dumping them into the arms of each new recruit, grinning as they doubled up under the weight of the old fashioned, rusted metal. 'Too heavy, eh? Well, you're not cut out for this then, are you? And here's yer armour.' Quirke gestured to a line of battered breastplates lined against the wall. 'Fight over 'em later.'

'Don't we need to take the oath?' a young boy said from the back.

Corporal Quirke laughed. 'Oath? We don't take no oath, Vimes. What'd be the point in that?'

* * *

**Our Drunk Friend**

'Drink!' the men cheered.

Sam Vimes mock toasted them and downed the shot, the first in his life bar a couple of beers snuck out behind the shed when he was a kid. He grinned as he heard the cheer from the crowd, who were already three drinks over par.

Then, as they turned away from him to something more exciting, he ordered another glass and sat slightly on the outside of the group, nursing the drink until it was suddenly empty, then full again, then empty again, and he finally found himself in a gutter outside the Mended Drum.

* * *

**Our Role Models**

Corporal Quirke and Sergeant Knock were outside the door, smoking foul roll ups and jumping up and down on the steps to try and get warm.

'So, what'd'you think of the new recruits?'

'Load of pathetic…' Knock took a drag, 'wet behind the ears numpties.'

'Ah, we were all young once?'

'What're you trying to say, corporal?' Knock said warningly.

'Nothing, sarge.'

'That's right.' He paused. 'Oh, we'll drag 'em up, maybe kick the decent ones in the right direction, but the rest of 'em will just be scum for the rest of their lives. Rest of their goddamn lives.'

* * *

**Our Histories**

'What brings you to the watch, then, Mister Vimes?' Sergeant Knock asked, surveying the young boy in front of him who'd actually applied for the Watch, not been forced in because of some sort of accident or petty crime. The lad in front of him didn't look like he had the guts.

'Heard it was a decent job,' Vimes said carefully. 'Respectable.'

Knock laughed right inside his throat. 'You just keep on believing that, son.'

Vimes left the interview with the horrible feeling that he'd gotten into something much bigger than him, and now he couldn't get out of it.

* * *

**Our Mysteries**

'So, why're you here, Nancyball?' Vimes asked. Even in the dim light of the flickering street lamps he could see Nancyball's blush.

'Nothing,' he said, ducking underneath a shop sign. 'Way to make a living, isn't it?'

'Right,' Vimes said slowly. For some reason he didn't want to press the constable.

It was only after Nancyball's funeral that Vimes went up to a young woman holding a baby, wrapped up in a pink blanket.

'Did you know Horace?'

'I was his girl,' the woman said slowly. 'This here's his daughter.'

Vimes looked at the little girl and wished he'd asked.

* * *

**Our New Girl-Bro**

'But she's a woman, captain,' Sergeant Colon said, behind the duty desk. He'd just seen the latest interviewee go up.

'Oh, she's more than that,' Vimes said. 'Anyway, we've never been against women joining, have we? Not officially.'

'Not officially, no.' Colon was starting to sweat. 'It's just...um…'

'Not right, sergeant?' Vimes seemed angry, for some reason. 'Really, you're going to discriminate against her because she's a woman?'

Vimes thought he might give the girl the job there and then, regardless of undeadness, just for the look on Colon's face. 'And you know, I think I might just hire her.'

* * *

**Our White Coats**

_Or, Our Stripes_

There was a definite competition arising in the ranks of the Watch. Corporal Kplunk had returned to Uberwald after a shouting match with Corporal Quirk regarding the latter's recruitment back into the Watch, and his position was open.

However, there wasn't much enthusiasm within the lilac lads.

'I bet you'll get it,' Corporal Colon told Vimes. 'You're the most sensible. They said so.'

Vimes just raised his eyebrows and carried on drinking. 'I don't want it.'

'Why not?' another constable asked. 'I'm dying for the raise. You could give it to me.'

Vimes shrugged, carried on drinking.

* * *

**Our Couples**

Valentine's Day was always a gloomy occasion at the Watch House. Those who were in a relationship had been married for too long and had had enough, and those who weren't, well, they were just bitter.

'I've got to get her chocolates,' Corporal Colon said gloomily. 'Nice ones, as well.'

'You could nick 'em,' a quick learning constable volunteered.

'Nah. I'd get hell from her if I did that.'

'How would she know?'

'Oh, she'd know all right. Beats me how she knows, but she always does.'

Vimes considered asking Captain Tilden to hire Mrs Colon as a law enforcer.

* * *

**Our Stuff Gets Real**

'Domestic.' Sergeant Knock pointed at the newest recruits. 'You and you and you, Vimes, you're young enough. You'll bounce.'

The older officers smirked. Vimes's face didn't move.

'Nine Easy Street. You'll probably be able to hear the shouting from here if you listen.'

The three lance-constables walked out of Treacle Mine Road and towards Easy Street. None of them wanted to voice the terror inside their heads.

Vimes felt a little sorry for the other two. But what had Keel said? You do the job in front of you.

'Come on,' he said. 'It's got to get real some time.'

* * *

**Our True Lies**

'Scuse me, mister,' a polite voice said from behind him. Vimes, unused to being called anything but 'Oi! You!' turned round.

'Yes?'

'Um…I'd like to join the Watch.' The boy couldn't have been more than ten, dressed in rags and with a cheerful grin. It faded slightly at Vimes's incredulous look.

But then Vimes remembered how enthusiastic about joining the Watch he'd been, and how much he'd loved getting the uniform and the badge and giving the oath to himself in the back room, when it was quiet, and he really didn't want to spoil the future for this kid.

* * *

**Our Dear Leaders**

It was the final day of their probationary period, and all the lance-constables were lined up, knackered, a world more cynical and addicted to tea, but they were proud of themselves.

'Well, lads, you ain't turned out bad.' That was Sergeant Knock's idea of a compliment. 'We got ourselves a college. The world's gonna quake in terror when they see you out on the streets.'

Most of them evidently didn't understand sarcasm, but Knock was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the look that Lance-constable Vimes was giving him.

Afterwards, he spoke to him.

'You keep your head right down, Vimes. Understand?'

* * *

**Our Driving Issues**

'Don't whip that horse again, Wiglet,' Vimes warned. 'It's going too fast as…look, can't you just pull on the reins?'

'It's fine, Sam.'

'No, it's the Elm Street corner in a minute, and you're going too…'

The crash lasted for a while. It caused a lot of damage to the hurry-up wagon which had crashed into a wall and then _two_ cartwheels rolled off and into the night. The prisoners took this opportunity to vanish into the dark.

'Cracking work, Wiglet,' Vimes said.

'We're in deep cack, aren't we?'

Vimes could only nod as he extracted himself from the rubble.

* * *

**Our Thanks**

They stood over the graves, holding the last of the lilac plumes in their hands. Heads bowed, fists clenched, staring down at the soil like they could find some sort of answer in the mud.

Nobby Nobbs, Fred Colon, Sam Vimes. The others didn't want to come.

Slowly, Fred tossed one of the lilacs onto the grave of Billy Wiglet. 'He was my mate.'

The other two nodded and slowly placed a lilac on the other graves.

Finally, it came to Keel. Sam bowed his head, placed a lilac on the ground next to the headstone, and walked away quickly.


	10. A Response To Reviews

Don't get excited - I'm just replying to reviewers. I'm in a good mood. It's Christmas.

Slantaholic: Hello! Welcome! Thank you for the reviews, I'm glad you liked it, and I'm sorry for the lack of Slant. More Havelock, though, so I hope that'll suffice. Also, after reading through your profile, I discovered you are a Slant/Stoneface shipper. I'm making no comment. Each to their own, of course...

BenRG: Well, that and a cuppa.

Zoya1416: Hello! Night Watch is the only book which has ever made me cry - inside I'm soulless - and it's because you can see where Vimes' alcoholism, his cynicism, his distrustfullness come from, and why. Maybe Vimes just never cared about it enough - there's five books before Night Watch and it's never mentioned, so he might have just tried to forget it.

GeoffG: Watch this space, there shalt be more fanfiction. There shalt always be more fanfiction. At the moment I'm going through and editing said novel, but when more of it is right I'll be happy to PM you. Who knows, maybe it'll make it onto shelves somewhere?

So thank you, lovely people, and keeeeep reading!


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